Brothers in Arms
by Questfan
Summary: D'Artagnan runs into unexpected trouble on his way back from Gascony. Well, Athos may have expected it. And Treville. My attempt to explain the depth of the musketeers' brotherhood, especially when they think they may lose one of their own.
1. Chapter 1

I have never written in this genre and actually only discovered the series a few weeks ago. I confess I have never read the book, but have always loved anything to do with the musketeers. Forgive me if I have missed the mark on any details. Consider it poetic license. I hope you enjoy this little story that would not get out of my head until I wrote it down.

**Brothers in Arms**

D'Artagnan raised his hand to swipe it across his brow for what seemed like the thousandth time that morning. The oppressive heat was almost unbearable. The road stretched before him like an unending ribbon of dirt and he felt like he would never get home.

Home.

He chewed on his bottom lip as he contemplated that word. Emotion swelled in his chest and he shook his head as if he could somehow shake it off. His home was gone.

* * *

Aramis lifted his tankard to his lips and slowly sipped at the liquid inside. In the heat, the alcohol didn't do much to quench his thirst, but it did allow him the opportunity to discreetly observe Athos.

For his part, Athos was lost in thought. His tankard sat on the table in front of him and he seemed oblivious to the noises and smells of the tavern. Porthos was off to their left, plying his card-playing skills with some poor unfortunate who didn't know his reputation. When he let out a deep belly laugh, Aramis looked across to see what was so funny, but Athos merely continued to stare into the empty space before him.

"Why would he choose to go alone?"

The words were barely a whisper and Aramis wasn't sure he had heard correctly.

"What?"

Athos finally made eye contact with him and Aramis patiently waited for him to respond. For all his gruffness, Aramis knew how fond Athos had grown of their little Gascon idiot.

Athos stared at his friend. "Why would he choose to return to his farm alone? There could be trouble and you know how he seems to attract trouble."

Aramis smiled across the table. _"Yes, he does!" _he thought to himself.

"It has been months since the raiders destroyed his farm. Their leader is dead. There won't be any trouble as they'll be long gone."

Athos knew his friend was making sense, but couldn't shake the sense of foreboding that had hung over him since d'Artagnan announced he was going.

"Of course, as always, you are right."

"_You still didn't answer my question though." _

"As always!" Aramis grinned at him. "Now drink up so we can save that poor fool from Porthos."

Athos laughed as he glanced across at the gaming table. It certainly did seem that Porthos had stacked the odds in his favour and the sap on the other side of the table was beginning to show signs of anger. Time to wrap up the game and take their brother home, before a card or two fell out of his sleeve.

* * *

D'Artagnan's horse was tiring and he clearly needed to rest. The heat was unrelenting and both horse and rider needed water. It was still some way to Paris and there were no more towns along the way. He did recall a small village somewhere to the east, but didn't really want to detour to find it. Instead he had been scouting for a river or stream.

As he scanned the area, looking for a telltale line of trees to tell him where water was flowing, his thoughts once again returned to his home. The rolling hills he was traversing were so similar and yet so different to his beloved Gascony. The tiny farmlets that dotted the landscape only served to remind him of how much he had lost. He blinked back tears as he recalled his first sight of his childhood home. The blackened timber had collapsed to the ground and the stones of the chimney had fallen in on themselves. Labarge's men had done a thorough job of their destruction. His father's handiwork had been wiped from existence.

The tears began in earnest as that thought hit him. His father had laboured his whole life to provide for his family. His young wife had died with the fever that had taken so many that winter, many years earlier. D'Artagnan and his father Alexandre were all that each other had. Except now, thanks to Gaudet, he didn't even have that.

Fresh grief welled up in him and he struggled to contain it. Since that awful day where he had held his dying father in his arms, he had tried to bury the grief. He had focused firstly on avenging his death by going after Athos, fully intending to kill the man. When the lie had been exposed and he knew Athos was not the man responsible, he had helped bring some justice to the situation. But it was not enough. The men of the musketeer garrison had accepted him, but somehow it was still not enough. He had no blood relative left in the world. And the last few days had proven to him that he had no home either. His former neighbours had come out to meet him and express their condolences, but as he rode away he knew it was for the last time. The farm boy from Gascony was no more. In his place was … d'Artagnan wasn't sure what was in his place.

His horse noticed it first and picked up his pace. Water. D'Artagnan shook himself out of his maudlin thoughts as he noticed the change in his mount. Horses had a sense for water and he gave the animal enough slack in the reins to allow it to take him there. As they headed across the meadow and into a copse of tress he could hear the faint sound of laughter. Children's laughter, to be exact.

A slow smile spread across his face as he realised what he was hearing. A smouldering summer's day, water and children. His mount had brought them to a swimming hole. The sour taste of memories quickly wiped the smile from his face as he recalled the swimming hole near his home.

"No!" he muttered to himself. "I don't have a home anymore."

His horse was insistent on reaching the water as quickly as possible and he dismounted smoothly before allowing the exhausted animal to drink his fill. For his part, d'Artagnan simply knelt down and plunged his entire head into the water. As he pulled back and shook out his hair he noticed two boys had crawled up onto the opposite bank and were staring at him. The older one of the two had his arm protectively around the other as he scrambled for a tree branch.

D'Artagnan smothered the smile as he realized the boy was simply trying to defend them. He held out his hands to show he meant no harm and slowly stood up.

"Sorry if I startled you. My horse and I have traveled a long way and needed water."

The older boy stood up, tugging at his younger brother. He waved the tree branch as menacingly as he could and once again, d'Artagnan had to hold back a smile.

"My father has gone to get the Musketeers! You had best be off before they get here!"

"And what would you be needing from the Musketeers?"

"My father says there has been enough killing and looting and he has gone to the King for help."

D'Artagnan felt his stomach churn and he grabbed at his horse's reins to calm himself as the bile began to rise up his throat.

"Killing and looting?"

The boy studied the stranger as though he was unsure what to say next. He waved the tree branch in the air in a show of defiance and d'Artagnan couldn't help but admire the boy's courage. His younger brother seemed frozen in fear and he could only imagine what they had been exposed to.

"You called for the Musketeers and … well … " d'Artagnan bowed deeply before straightening up again. "At your service."

He smiled as he watched the confused look spread across the boy's face.

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is d'Artagnan."

The boy shook his head at him. "Where is you uniform? You don't look like a musketeer to me."

D'Artagan glanced down at himself and was forced to agree. In the heat he had removed his jacket and stowed it in his saddlebag. His shirt was smeared with travel stains and his head still dripped with water from the swimming hole. Treville would have also told him he didn't look the part.

"My captain would most certainly agree with you. Here, let me prove myself to you." He reached into the saddlebag and pulled out his heavy leather jacket. The fleur-de-lis insignia certainly proved his identity, even to a poor farm boy's eyes. The older boy slightly eased his stance, but his arm did not move from his brother's shoulders.

The two of them began to edge closer to the stranger. D'Artagnan sat down on the nearest log and began to remove his boots.

"Would it be all right with you if I cooled off in your swimming hole? It has been a long day's ride."

The older boy nodded and finally seemed to relax. He reached down to grab his brother's hand and moved closer to the stranger. They watched as the man removed his outer clothing and strode into the soothing water. He ducked under the water and ripples fanned out across the pond. It seemed like forever before a dark head appeared again, quite some distance from where he had gone under.

"How did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"Swim under the water like that?"

D'Artagnan slowly stroked towards the bank where the two boys were watching him.

"My father taught me." The simple words brought pain flaring across his chest again and he turned and dove underwater. When he surfaced again the boys had edged back into the water.

"Will you teach me?" The eagerness in the boy's voice made d'Artagnan laugh before another stab of pain hit him. How many times had that same tone of voice come out of his own mouth? He had followed his father like a puppy. Eager to please and content just to be around the man he adored. He swallowed back a sharp breath and nodded.

"Of course. But first I need the names of my pupils."

"I'm Henri," the older boy pointed his own chest. "And he's Philippe. But he doesn't talk much." A wistful look caught d'Artagnan's attention and he decided he didn't want to know the cause. The boys looked far too young to have experienced what he knew they had and he was in no position to give any comfort. Instead he reached out for Henri's hand and encouraged him into the water.

The afternoon waned as the trio splashed in the tiny pond. Henri showed himself quite adept at swimming and eventually he was brave enough to try skimming along underwater. Philippe was happy to stay in the shallows, but his eyes never strayed off his brother and the funny stranger.

Finally d'Artagnan decided it was time to get out and despite Henri's protests, managed to drag the two boys up the slope and onto the embankment to dry.

His horse had wandered a short way to graze so he whistled for him to return. As the sleek black animal pulled up alongside him the boys watched in awe as the horse nuzzled into d'Artagnan's back. They lay on the grass and waited for their new friend to finish dressing. It was still far too hot for the leather jacket, but Henri sat bolt upright as d'Artagnan began to strap on his weapons belt.

"Someday, I'm going to have one of those."

Even though he heard the comment, d'Artagnan made no move to acknowledge it. He heard it in the tone of voice. He had said it himself. One day he would avenge his father's death. His stomach curdled as he wondered what Henri had to avenge. The boy had only talked of his father and that told him all he needed to know.

The heaviness from earlier in the day was back and threatening to overcome him again. He leaned into his horse and drew strength from the familiar scent of leather and horse mingled together. Time to go.

He felt the change in his horse in the same instant his own ears picked up the sound. Heavy hoofbeats, coming their way. He looked down at the boys and could see the alarm on their faces. Without thinking, he clambered up into the saddle and reached for Philippe. The small boy looked frozen in terror and refused to move. Henri nudged him forward as d'Artganan reached out for his arm. Before he knew it, Philippe was sitting in the front of the saddle and his brother had been dragged up behind.

In a blur of motion they were flying across the meadow towards the farmhouse. Three riders were quickly closing on them from the left and d'Artagnan knew he could not outrun them with three of them on one horse. He pulled his horse to an abrupt halt and slid out of the saddle. Henri looked at him with understanding, but Philippe looked terrified.

"Don't go home. Ride to the village. You'll be safe there. Tell them to send for Athos of the Musketeers."

There was no time to argue and Henri just nodded. With a slap to the rump, the horse took off and d'Artagnan turned to face their pursuers. The three men were upon him and circling him menacingly as Henri glanced back over his shoulder. Philippe was crying softly and Henri leaned in to hug his little brother.

"It's all right. He's a musketeer." Even to his own ear the words sounded hollow, but his father had placed his hope in them so he would too. He struggled to hold the reins to steer the giant beast, but somehow the horse kept heading for the road.


	2. Chapter 2

I am so astounded by the response to this story. Maybe it's because I haven't written in a current and such active fandom before, but I am so buzzed by the level of response. Thank you to those who have reviewed or are following. It is always so very much appreciated. As is usually the case with my stories, this one has grown as I have begun to flesh it out. I'm not sure how long it will end up, so I guess just enjoy the ride while it carries on :-)

**Chapter Two**

D'Artagnan slowly and carefully turned in a tight circle. Three heavy-breathing horses pranced around him as their riders jeered at him. None of them had any weapons drawn, but he could see each of them carried at least a pistol and a musket. So far, they were just toying with him.

"Now where do you suppose a grubby farm boy got his hands on a sword like that?"

"Probably stole it!"

The other two roared with laughter as they continued to march their horses around their prey.

"Well I guess that evens the odds a little. Except I'd wager he has no idea how to swing that blade."

More laughter echoed in his ears, but d'Artagnan was happy to drag this little charade out if it put more distance between them and the boys. He prayed they had not seen his pistol tucked into the back of his breeches and covered by his shirt. It only had one shot and he would not have time to reload it when it was three against one. He kept his tongue and allowed the raiders to continue their taunts. Athos had repeatedly told him that allowing his emotions to rule his actions would always end in trouble. As much as he wanted to respond, he bit back the retorts that arose in his mind. A small grimace twitched at his lips as he realised that Athos would never get to know that his lesson had sunk in.

"You do know those brats are getting away. They can warn somebody we are back. Takes away our surprise."

The apparent leader of the trio looked up to see how far the boys had made it. He frowned as he realised they were farther away than he had expected. The farm boy's horse was clearly from good stock.

"Well then you'd better stop them, hadn't you?" It was clearly an order and not a question, but the first one hesitated.

"Why me? This one looks like much more fun!"

D'Artagnan glared at them and found he couldn't stay silent any longer. His blood was boiling at the thought that these men, if they could be called men, were prepared to go after innocent children.

"Trust me, you won't be having any fun at my expense." The low growl in his voice made the trio laugh.

"Oh really?" The leader turned his attention back to his original conversation. "Get after those boys! I promise you can have first turn at the next wench we come across."

D'Artagnan simply glared at him as the man reeled his horse out of the circle.

"I'm going to hold you to that," he shouted as he raced his horse away across the meadow.

The other two kept circling their horses around the young man in front of them. Barely concealed rage distorted his features as he struggled to keep control.

Finally, as if tiring of their game, one of the men kicked out at him from the saddle. Anticipating the move already, d'Artagnan sidestepped the thrust and the man overbalanced. As he tried to correct himself, d'Artagnan lunged at him and pulled him to the ground. In one smooth move he plunged his sword into the man's chest.

As his companion drew his last ragged breath, the other man pulled his horse back a few paces. Clearly he had not expected their victim to have any such skills and he briefly wondered who they were up against. He didn't have long to wonder as the stranger took another wild swing with his sword. The horse shied back from the blow and the sword glanced across his upper thigh.

He yelped in pain before pulling a pistol from its sheath on his saddle. With only seconds to react, d'Artagnan again sidestepped and lunged once more. This time his sword found its mark and the second rider toppled from his mount. Leaving the man to die where he fell, d'Artagnan sheathed his sword and quickly swung himself into the recently vacated saddle. The horse pranced on the spot as it was unaccustomed to this new rider. With the ease born of many years experience, he gathered in the reins and pushed the horse in the direction of his two young friends. He whipped the horse with the reins in a desperate attempt to cover lost ground as quickly as possible.

As he scanned the meadow ahead of him he could barely make out the last of the raiders. The fact he was still riding meant he hadn't caught the boys yet. As he searched past that point, d'Artagnan could see that the boys were not that far ahead. He cursed under his breath as he knew Henri would have struggled to control his spirited horse. He spurred his own horse on and pushed it to the limit, wishing he was on one of the Musketeers battle-seasoned mounts. Galloping at full pace could only be maintained for a short time, especially for an unconditioned horse.

It seemed like hours before he drew close to the rider in front of him. The man had pulled alongside the boys and grabbed at the reins. Both horses had pulled up short and d'Artagnan could hear Henri screaming his name. He urged the last he could out of his spent horse and virtually threw himself out of the saddle.

Henri was still clinging onto his horse's mane, but Philippe had been knocked out of his grasp and had fallen to the ground. As the two horses jostled against each other the man slid from his saddle and tried to grab at the terrified child. Henri urged the horse forward and the man skipped backwards as the large horse almost stamped on his foot.

"Philippe, run!" The child stumbled as he tried to comply, but being caught up in the middle of two large horses dancing around him was too much and his legs gave way beneath him. As he crumpled to the ground his brother could see the man once more heading in his direction.

D'Artagnan sprinted towards the child while simultaneously drawing his sword. His mind reeled as he saw the raider draw his pistol and aim it squarely at the defenseless child.

"Noooooo!" Without thinking, he threw himself forward and crashed over Philippe.

He sensed, rather than heard, Henri's scream behind him. As the metal ball bit into his flesh the only thing he could feel was the adrenaline coursing through his veins and a pounding in his ears. His mind refused to respond and his upper arm suddenly felt very heavy as he tried to wrap it around the small boy under his chest. Acting solely on instinct he swung wildly with his sword arm and was surprised when it finally connected with something solid. The force reverberated up his arm and he felt the sword fall from his fingers as he struggled to move.

"Philippe!"

The second scream drew him out of his stupor and d'Artagnan twisted sideways to see the raider staggering backwards, away from him. Blood poured from his side as he clutched at an open wound with his left hand. D'Artagnan frowned as it all seemed to be happening in slow-motion. The sounds of the battle were fading in his ears and instead he heard his friend's voice.

"_A stomach wound is always fatal."_

The words floated through his head and he remembered Aramis telling him that once as a Red Guard lay dying. He had felt a whisper of sympathy for the man, but the one in front of him deserved nothing but contempt. He attempted to untangle himself from the child clinging to his shirt and he belatedly noticed that once again, a pistol was being waved in his direction. Somewhere in the back of his mind he wondered how his attacker had had time to reload when he realised he was staring down the barrel of his own weapon. Somehow the man must have pulled it from d'Artagnan's back when he lay crouched over Philippe. He briefly had time to wonder what words of disapproval Athos would have for him on that count before he felt it again; the burning sensation that burrowed into his flesh. This time there was no more adrenaline left to block out the pain and he was left with the sour knowledge that once again, he had failed his mentor.

* * *

Porthos always snored when he was drunk. Or had overeaten. Or had just won a major victory. Or for pretty much any other occasion really. Most of the time his friends could live with it, but when he rattled the windows of their rooms as well as his own, they had various ways of dealing with it. Often a pillow was involved. Or sometimes a bucket of cold water. Occasionally even a death threat accompanied by a musket.

Athos sat on his bed and held his head in his hands. Tonight was one of those nights where he decided that nothing was going to help. He had tossed and turned for hours before finally giving up on the notion of sleep. He pulled on his boots and slipped out into the darkness. He knew the garrison so well that he could move about comfortably in the dark and felt no need to light a candle or lantern. Instead he headed out to the practice yard and settled down next to the remains of a firepit. The dying embers glowed red and the warmth radiating across from them was not enough to be uncomfortable on the still-warm night.

He could vaguely make out the sentry guards in the pre-dawn light and watched as they crossed from side to side of the garrison. He mentally counted off the number of steps before the two men turned and paced back towards each other.

It had only been a few minutes when his senses alerted him to movement behind him. He barely turned to see as he already knew who it was.

"Couldn't sleep either?"

The question rolled out of the darkness before the shapeless blur beside him resolved into Aramis.

"Alongside the earthquake? Not a chance!"

Aramis snorted in response and sat down next to his friend. "Hmmmm, he does seem to be particularly threatening to the well-being of my windows tonight."

Athos just nodded. The two of them sat comfortably in silence for a while before Aramis finally tried again.

"Anything else that might be keeping you up?" He continued to stare into the darkness, but was so well attuned to his friend that he still picked up on the stiffness beside him. Athos was clearly trying to hold it in, but Aramis was too perceptive to miss it. The fact he was struggling with it too made it easier to see. If only he could be more like Porthos and sleep through it. Maybe he just needed more spirits in his stomach.

When Athos still didn't respond, Aramis nudged his arm. "I'm worried about him too."

Athos simply exhaled a breath, but still refused to comment. Aramis leaned back against the stone wall and closed his eyes. This was clearly one of those conversations that was not going to involve any talking. The two were good enough friends that silence was not uncomfortable, but it didn't stop Aramis from wishing that Athos would let more out sometimes. As he pondered that thought he nearly missed his friend's words.

"I'm not worried about him."

Aramis was glad it was still fairly dark so his friend wouldn't see the grin on his face. He choked back a retort and waited.

"I just don't understand … why did he decide to go alone? Doesn't he understand yet what it means to be a musketeer?"

"You mean, all for one?"

Athos nodded slowly. Of course that was what he meant. "We would all have his back. Why wouldn't he give us the option to do that for him?"

Aramis stared across the practice yard towards the guards and realised they were growing more visible. In the pre-dawn light he could actually almost make out their faces. The men of the garrison slept soundly each night, knowing that their brothers guarded the gates and would sound the alarm if there were a hint of danger.

"I think … maybe … that we forget how short a time d'Artagnan has been one of us. So much has happened that it seems he has always been here. In reality, it has only been a short while."

Athos shook his head angrily. "Have we not already proved ourselves worthy of his trust? Many times over?"

Aramis knew the anger was not directed at their young friend. Rather it came from Athos' deeply ingrained sense of honour. He chose his next words carefully as he attempted to smooth his friend's ruffled feathers.

"In matters of battle? Yes. In matters that go deeper? Well … we all hold our secrets to our chests sometimes."

Athos knew that his friend was referring to their recent unplanned visit to his neglected and abandoned home, but stayed silent. As always, Aramis was right.

"How did you become so wise for one who is an uneducated fool?"

Aramis smiled at the insult. His friend was coming back. "I am educated in the things that matter."

Athos laughed softly in response. "Yes, there are many ladies of the city who could attest to that!"

Before Aramis could reply, they were both drawn to their feet by a commotion at the guardhouse. Raised voices had them both moving quickly and quietly towards the sentries. Athos' hand moved instinctively to his side and he smothered a curse when he realised he was unarmed.

"I demand to speak with your captain!" The shout rang out across the practice yard.

"Who are you to be demandin' anything at this time of night?"

Aramis recognised the voice of one of the younger recruits and smothered a smirk. Waking Treville from his bed before dawn was not a good idea, especially since their captain had spent most of the last week at the court. He was exhausted and the experienced Musketeers knew it had more to do with dealing with court intrigue than anything else. A soldier never enjoyed the convolutions of politics.

As Aramis and Athos stepped up beside the two sentry guards they could see a man, dressed in simple peasant clothing, being held back by the two of them.

"I demand help from your captain!"

Athos stepped squarely in front of the man and the guards slowly removed their restraining hands.

"Help with what, exactly? We are the King's Musketeers and not at your beck and call." The low measure of his voice made the man step back slightly, but he did not back down.

"I am a citizen of France! I went to seek the King and he would not hear me."

"And what makes you think you can then seek us out if the King would not grant your audience?"

Desperation flared on the man's face, but before he could reply, Treville moved into the debate. Nobody had heard him approach, but his men were not surprised by his sudden appearance. Nothing happened in his garrison that he did not know about.

"The King has other matters to attend to at present. His musketeers are assigned at his requirements. And _only _at his requirements." The authority in his voice resonated with his men, but the stranger would not be deterred.

"My wife is dead! So are others! Farms have been looted. We need help! Not a lesson in politics." The man's voice trailed away as he stared at the soldiers in front of him. He read a flash of sympathy on the face of the dark-haired man and allowed himself a moment of hope.

Aramis schooled his face into a mask again and glanced across at Treville. The captain's hand was clenched by his side. His men knew that small give-away showed his frustration, but a stranger had no way of knowing that. Something had transpired at court that related to this man's demands.

"I waited for two days at the court, but the King was not inclined to hear my plea. I was told I could not enter your garrison until daylight and I have waited all night outside your gates. Please! If the King does not care to save his subjects, perhaps he will be a little more concerned when our produce fails to reach Paris and the court goes hungry!"

"Careful! You are on dangerous ground!" Treville's voice was low in warning. Speaking openly against the King was never a good idea, but especially so in a public place.

As the sun began to crest the roof line in front of them, Treville could see the clear mark of bruising on the man's face. An older scar had almost healed across his cheekbone. He softened his stance a little, but nobody except those closest to him would know that.

"Where, exactly is your home?"

The man was caught off guard by the change and he hesitated momentarily. "Over a day's ride from the city on the south road."

"I am aware of the petition you sought to bring to the court. I am due to return there today and will take your request with me. In the meantime, you would do well to return to your home."

The farmer knew he was being dismissed. Although he wanted to wait and hear the outcome before leaving the city, he also knew his boys were waiting for him. Every minute he was away from them was another minute longer they were not safe. He had considered bringing them to Paris with him, but knew he could well be attacked on the road. The decision to leave them behind had been prefaced by stern warnings and instructions on what to do if the raiders returned. He could only pray they did not need to listen to those instructions.

He nodded slowly in agreement and began to turn away. "Thank you for allowing me your attention. The Musketeers' reputation is one of honour."

Treville knew the compliment had an implied expectation buried in it. Men of honour did not stand idly by and watch innocents suffer. Men of honour would come to their rescue. Unfortunately, men of honour were also bound by duty.

"Sir, may I inquire as to your name?"

The farmer turned back to face the Captain of the Musketeers. "Armand Dubois."

When it was clear that no more was forthcoming he turned on his heel and headed over to where his horse was tied to a rail. He swung himself into the saddle and headed away down the laneway. Treville stood staring after him long after the sound of hooves on cobblestones had faded. Finally he blinked and turned to head for his office.

"I need to prepare for court," was all the explanation any of them were apparently going to get.


	3. Chapter 3

You have no idea how cool it is to receive so many emails in the inbox in one day! Thank you so very much for the feedback. I hope you are still talking to me after this chapter :-)

**Chapter Three**

By mid-afternoon most of the garrison was watching as Porthos took on any and all challengers. Athos leaned against a rail and watched as his friend lifted a new recruit in the air and hurled him across the open space. As the youngster hit the ground and rolled sideways, Athos winced in sympathy. That was going to hurt in the morning!

He watched the sparring with little interest in what was really happening. Instead he was actually waiting for Treville to return, but could not be seen loitering at the gate. It had been a long day since the farmer from the south had ridden away from their garrison gate, empty-handed.

Aramis had chosen to pass the hours a little more energetically and had spent the morning sparring with anybody who would take him on. The men were amazed when, for some unknown reason, he had decided to take on Porthos at his challenge. Athos looked up at this turn of events and understood his friend's decision. When you cannot get your mind off something, give it something else to focus on. He felt a wry smile spread across his face as he knew his friend's tactic was about to seriously bite him.

"This should be entertaining!" he muttered to himself.

Unfortunately, or fortunately for Aramis, Captain Treville rode through the gate only a few minutes later. He called to Athos and pointed to his office.

"Bring them!" he waved towards the duo, who were about to begin their round.

Porthos spat on the ground in disgust before shaking a warning finger towards Aramis.

"Don't think this is over."

"Why, of course not. But I do think you were saved by the Captain's arrival."

Porthos grinned at the cheek of his friend before sobering up and heading for Treville's office. Their captain did not look happy.

* * *

Henri clambered down off the gigantic horse and tossed the reins aside. He had no interest in the well-being of the horse. All he wanted to know was why his little brother wasn't getting up. Tears welled in his eyes as he hesitantly picked his way across to where the dark-haired stranger was sprawled across Philippe. Except he wasn't a stranger. He had played with them. And protected them. He was a musketeer! The boys had grown up hearing tales of the King's men and their valor. It was an honour to have one in their company. So why wasn't he moving either? After all, musketeers were invincible.

Henri kept a wary eye on the man who had staggered away from them, but he knew from the amount of blood on the man's vest that he was dying. Living on a farm taught the basics of life and death at an early age. In other circumstances he might have felt relief as the man collapsed to the ground and stopped groaning.

Tears streamed down his face as saw his little brother's foot twitch from underneath d'Artagnan's leg.

"Philippe!" he could not contain the torrent of relief that poured down his face as he frantically pulled his brother out from under his protector's body. Blood was smeared across his shirt and face and Henri ran his hands over his brother's head and torso before determining that the blood was not his. Philippe was pale and a dark stain on the front of his breeches showed his sheer terror, but he was essentially unharmed. During all of Henri's ministrations to his brother, d'Artagnan still had not moved.

Henri choked back fear and leaned in to pull the dark hair out of his new friend's face. The eyes that had laughed at him only a short time ago were now screwed tightly closed. He recoiled as his senses registered the blood pooling at d'Artagnan's back. The red stood in stark contrast to what had once been a crisp, white shirt. More blood oozed down his sleeve, but at least it seemed to be flowing slower.

"Papa!" the word fell out of his mouth in a desperate plea. The man who could make everything right again with his fractured world was nowhere to be found. He closed his eyes and thought about his father's parting instructions.

_Stay together at all times. Keep watch for strangers. If there is danger, run for the tree line and hide in the caves in the back of the meadow. Protect your little brother. I love you._

Philippe sat on the ground and stared at his hands. The blood was drying, but somehow he seemed simultaneously fascinated with it and horrified by it.

Henri pushed the balls of his hands into his eyes and scrubbed furiously at them. He sucked in a breath before he leaned back over d'Artagnan again. As he laid a tentative hand across his back he could feel the slow rise and fall. He was still breathing.

"Philippe, come here and help me turn him over."

The little boy stared at him without responding. Henri tried again and with a hand gesture to reinforce the instruction, eventually Philippe stood up.

"When I tell you, push against his arm, there." Henri pointed to the upper part of d'Artagnan's arm and laid his little brother's pudgy hands against it.

"Ready?"

He got no response, but Philippe was watching him and he took that as a yes.

"All right, now push!"

It was surprising how much effort it took for both of them to roll the injured man onto his back and with no resistance, d'Artagnan's body flopped hard against the ground. He still didn't awaken.

Henri leaned back on his haunches and the tears threatened again as he saw a matching bloodstain on the front of his friend's shirt. For a sickening moment he thought that the raider had run him through with a sword. Except that made no sense. It was d'Artagnan who had the sword. Henri carefully peeled back the bloodstained material and gasped. A ragged hole had punched through from front to back and it was still bleeding freely.

His brain seemed to switch into automatic mode as he tried to think what his father would do.

"How do I stop the bleeding?" He had seen his mother tend wounds before and the memory brought fresh tears to his eyes.

"Think! What did she do?"

He rubbed a hand across the top of his head as he tried to recall seeing his mother taking care of injuries. Usually he was shooed from the room, but a small boy is often curious and he had watched from the shadows.

"Water. Bandages to bind the wound. And … and … what else?"

He stared helplessly at Philippe who had not idea what he was talking about.

"Salt! We need salt!"

The elation of his idea quickly faded as he looked back at the too-still man in front of him. How were they supposed to get him back to the house to do anything for him?

Suddenly his father's warnings rang in his ears.

_If there is danger, run for the tree line and hide in the caves in the back of the meadow. Protect your little brother. I love you._

The caves were not far, but once again, he had no idea how they were supposed to get their wounded friend there. After all, they had barely been able to roll his body over.

At that moment, d'Artagnan's horse made his presence known with a loud snort and shake of his head. He resumed grazing, but Henri stared at him while chewing on his lip.

Eventually a memory from earlier in the day came to mind and he recalled d'Artagnan showing them his jacket and travel cloak. He ran towards the horse, hesitating slightly as he pulled up beside it. The animal was huge! He grabbed for the saddlebags and began emptying their contents onto the ground. When he got to the cloak, a small smile spread across his face. He laid it out on the ground beside his fallen friend and raced back towards the horse. There was nothing more that would help him in the saddlebag and he shook his head in anger. He would need to return to the farmhouse for rope.

Henri looked around to see Philippe had fallen asleep in the sun. Exhaustion had set in as the terror of the day had finally overwhelmed him. Debating whether or not to wake his little brother, Henri eventually decided he did not have time to fuss with him. Maybe the oblivion of sleep was a mercy. With a small sting of regret, he looked one last time at his brother before climbing up into the saddle of the huge horse.

He gathered up the reins and prayed the animal would heed his commands. At first the horse seemed hesitant, but since it was d'Artagnan who had first placed this rider on his back, he responded to the urgent kick at his side. Henri pushed the horse to a trot and urged him towards the farmhouse. He didn't dare try and go faster as he knew he could not rein in the horse at a canter.

It was perhaps half an hour later when he returned to the spot where he had left his brother and their friend. He was relieved to see that Philippe had not stirred, but equally alarmed to see that d'Artagnan had not moved either. As he sat in the saddle he pulled the rope from the saddlebags and began to tie it around the horse's neck. He threw the excess off behind him and slid down off the horse's back.

He wanted Philippe to sleep and keep him safe from having to think of their situation, but he needed his brother's help. Once he had tied the rope securely around the neck of d'Artagnan's travel cloak, he gently shook his brother awake.

"C'mon sleepyhead. I need your muscles." He gently coaxed his brother to wake up. For a moment, Philippe thought he had simply fallen asleep in the meadow, as he had done many times before. All of a sudden the memories invaded his head and he flinched away from his brother with a small whimper of fright.

Henri ignored him for the moment as he could tell the sun was going to be gone in under an hour and he had no time to waste.

"Here, when I roll him on his side, you need to push this cloak under him. Understand?"

Philippe nodded and grabbed hold of the edge of the thick material.

"Ready?"

Henri shoved with all his might and somehow managed to push the upper half of d'Artagnan's body onto his side. He cringed as that was the arm with the bleeding wound, but d'Artagnan still did not react. As Philippe pushed the cloak under his back, Henri allowed the body to flop backwards. He stood up and tugged at the heavy legs that still lay off to one side. By the time he was done he was puffing heavily, but Henri stood up to admire his work and was satisfied it would be enough. He had seen his father use a travois before, but in the absence of a real one, this would have to suffice.

"You keep an eye on him that he doesn't roll off and I will lead his horse."

Henri stepped up to the head of the horse and prayed once again that the animal would do as needed. He smiled with sheer relief as the giant horse walked forwards as he tugged on the reins. From in front he could just see the makeshift travois and his little brother trailing along behind.

The caves that had always seemed so close by, now seemed to be miles away. He glanced towards the horizon and noted the sun had dipped even further in the sky. He didn't dare go faster or he could lose their cargo off the cloak, but he knew he couldn't find the caves in the dark. Panic began to creep up his chest and he squashed it down. He had a real-life musketeer who needed him. In all the games he had played with Philippe where they had been the King's men storming the castle, the musketeers never died.

* * *

Armand poked at the tiny scrap of flame and gently blew on it. Finally the dry tinder underneath caught alight and he slowly fed some twigs onto the mix. He didn't need the fire for warmth as the evening was still and hot. He did prefer eating his fish cooked however and the fresh trout he had pulled from the stream was sitting ready, skewered on a bit of green stick. He placed the fish between two rocks and sat back to wait for it to cook.

He suppressed a sigh of frustration as he considered how little of the distance he had covered between Paris and his home. His horse had lifted a stone earlier in the day and even though he had managed to remove it, he didn't dare push the animal with a rider until he was sure it was safe. Laming his only horse was not worth the cost since he had no funds to replace it. When the raiders had taken two other horses he had managed to save one by chasing it into the forest. He knew the horse would eventually return and after two days it had wandered back into his barn.

An overnight rest should be sufficient and he would reassess the horse in the morning. In the meantime he prayed that his boys were safe. The thought that raiders had returned while he was gone made his stomach lurch violently. The fact he had no idea if the King had granted his petition or not was grating on him and he picked up one of the stones near the fire and hurled it into the creek.

"They are supposed to be men of honour!"

He glared into the fire and tried to reel in his anger.

"Please God, let them come."


	4. Chapter 4

Thank you so very much for the positive feedback. I love Laverock's thinking – "Well, you can't have a hurt/comfort story without someone getting hurt first."

My thoughts exactly! So I guess there's plenty of hurt still coming then.

**Chapter Four**

Treville was already sitting at his desk when Athos pushed open the door. A few steps behind him on the landing were Aramis and Porthos and the trio quickly moved into the room and lined up before their captain.

Aramis scanned the man's face and recognised the tight strain of muscles around his eyes that indicated a headache. The captain often returned from court with a headache and Aramis often quietly slipped a packet of powdered herbs onto his desk. He reached a hand into his pocket and reassured himself that the packet he had prepared earlier, in anticipation, had not fallen out during his sparring session. He would wait until his captain was done before mentioning it.

Treville leaned back in his chair and eyed the three men before him.

"It seems our farmer friend was correct."

Nobody spoke as they knew their captain was still trying to gather his thoughts and decide what he could and could not reveal from his day at court. It was always a juggling act as words spoken out of place could ultimately prove fatal.

"He said that the King would have a problem if his supplies were interrupted and it seems that is what has happened. A valuable cargo of fine wines and liqueurs has not arrived at court. The wagon crew was attacked and left for dead. One of them made it back to report the attack and a dispatch rider was sent to inform the King."

Athos chewed on his lower lip as he tried to keep a neutral face. Dead farmers' wives didn't matter apparently, but God forbid, the courtiers went without their dinner aperitif!

Aramis glanced across at him and could feel the tension in his friend. He heard Porthos shuffle his feet and when he turned to look, the man's stance was battle-ready with his hand on his sword hilt. He would have smiled if it weren't so serious a situation.

"I am to send scouts to determine the truth of the situation and report back." Treville looked at the three of them and just nodded towards them. None of them had any doubt as to who would be going.

"You will leave as soon as possible." Treville absently rubbed at his temples while waving them towards the door.

It was no surprise to any of them that the matter would not wait until morning, after it had been pushed aside initially as unimportant. None of them agreed with it, but each of them was well used to the complexities of court politics. As musketeers, they were simply given orders and expected to follow them.

With several hours of daylight left it was important they be on the road as soon as possible. As the three of them turned to file out, Aramis turned back towards Treville's desk and discreetly dropped a small packet. After having done it enough times before, he knew that Treville knew how to steep the brew.

The captain simply nodded at him as he followed his brothers back out the door. Treville picked up the packet and turned it over in his hand. He allowed himself a small smile. Nobody but Aramis would have known and yet he was ready and waiting to help. Not for the first time, he acknowledged how lucky his regiment was to have the man, with his unusual healing skills.

* * *

Armand stretched back against his meagre travel roll and laced his fingers behind his head. The evening was still warm and he knew without a breeze, it was not going to cool off any time soon. The small fire had dwindled to a pile of barely glowing embers and since he had no need to keep it for warmth, he had stopped feeding it. The dying light of day gave way to the intense light of an almost full moon.

He stared up into the night sky and watched the first of the stars begin to resolve out of the darkness. Adalyn had always loved this time of day. She always said that after all the events of any given day, God was sprinkling a carpet of jewels that everybody got to enjoy. Commoners and nobles alike got the same gift. She had a unique way of looking at the world and he sucked in a sharp breath as grief crashed into him. He clutched at his sides as he wrapped his arms across his chest. The tears gathered at the corners of his eyes and he screwed them shut.

Suddenly he realised he was holding his breath and he let it out in a rush.

"I miss you so much," he whispered up to the sky. If it weren't for his two boys he would have already sought to join her. His mind wandered as to what they may be doing and his ears missed the noise. Fortunately his body registered the vibrations against his back. Multiple horses were coming. He rolled over to smother the fire with his boots and grabbed at his few belongings before scrambling onto his horse. If he was to face a raiding party then he intended to force them to catch him.

* * *

Aramis could see the frown on Porthos' face as the moonlight gave them a clear night. He kept his mouth clamped shut as he waited for his friend to react to his provocation.

"You did what?!" The roar of fury erupted and Aramis made a show of steering his horse a little to the left while grasping his hat tightly.

"I had no idea you were there." Aramis sounded the voice of innocence and righteous indignation and Athos choked back a laugh.

He turned away and rolled his eyes as he knew that Aramis had most definitely known.

"You will pay for that, you know!" The threat came out in a low growl.

Aramis was under no illusion that Porthos would indeed make him pay. The prank had been worth the expected cost though.

"Do I need to seek protection from Athos? Or would you care for a duel to protect your honour?" He grinned in delight, knowing that he was just beginning to wind up his friend.

"Athos will not be able to help you! And as I recall, last time there was dueling to be done, you sent d'Artagnan! Let me just shoot you and we will be even."

"Do you smell smoke?" Aramis sniffed at the air. As a healer who worked with herbs, salves and potions, his sense of smell was keener than most.

"Don't try and change the subject. I do intend to shoot you!" Porthos grinned at his friend while Athos just shook his head at the pair of them.

"I know, I know. Tomorrow, in the daylight, when you can see me well enough not to miss." Aramis waved a vague hand towards Porthos. "I am serious though. Do you smell smoke?" He sniffed at the air again and his friends pulled up alongside him.

Before either of them could respond, they caught movement in the tree line beside the road.

"Athos? Of the Musketeers?" A voice carried out from the trees before a dark shape emerged. They quickly realised it was the farmer from earlier in the day.

"Armand? What are you doing in there?" Athos shifted slightly in his saddle to observe the man riding slowly towards them.

"I thought you were raiders. I intended to let you pass, but then I heard you talking. Please, tell me the King has granted my petition." The hope in his voice was unmistakable.

Athos decided the man did not need to know why the request had been granted. "We have been given orders to investigate."

"Oh, thank God! I knew you were men of honour." Armand felt his heart rate beginning to settle and he smiled at the trio before him.

Athos nodded towards the road. "It is well we have caught up with you so you can lead us specifically to what we are looking for."

"Yes, yes! Absolutely. Only I am afraid I must rest my horse for the night. She picked up a stone and I do not wish to lame her. I was camped over there when I heard you approaching."

"I knew I smelled smoke!" Aramis declared.

Athos ignored him as he slid effortlessly down from his horse. "Then I guess we camp here for the night and Aramis can assess your horse in the morning."

Armand felt a deep ache within him as he desperately wanted to be heading for home, not lying by the side of the road. He shook it off and embraced his gratitude that his prayer had been answered and these men had been sent to help him. For the first time he felt real hope ignite again.

* * *

The last of the sun's rays were fading over the horizon as Henri turned the horse loose. They had managed to slowly drag their cargo across the meadow without losing him off the cloak. It had started to tear in several places and he was grateful it had held together as long as it had.

At first, the horse had baulked at the cave entrance. It smelled damp and musty as most caves do. Henri decided he needed light to see where they were going before pushing the horse any further. He left Philippe to watch their friend while he headed into the cave.

He fumbled around the back wall of the cave, searching in the dark for the box he knew was there. Before leaving for Paris, his father had left a stash of supplies in case the boys needed to hide in the caves. He had left flint strikers, tinder and wood and given Henri strict instructions not to cook anything. There was no point being concealed if the smell of food gave them away.

It took a while for him to get a small fire going, but once he did, the cave seemed so much bigger. There were several caves of varying sizes and his father had deliberately selected one that had an entrance that angled away from the inner chamber. From outside, anybody searching for them would be hard pressed to see them. He had prayed they would not have to use it, but he was also trying to give them every protection he possibly could. Never could he have imagined his boys dragging a wounded stranger into the cave.

Henri encouraged the horse to drag their precious load just a little farther and he blew out a breath in relief when he realised they had made it. He chose to ignore the fact their friend still had not woken up as he could only focus on one thing at a time. His fear was rising again and he had to force himself to keep moving.

It was a simple matter to detach the cloak and rope, along with the saddlebags, but Henri scratched his head as he contemplated the horse's saddle. There was no way the horse could stay in the cave, but if he was turned out, Henri was fairly sure he would stay near his master. A grazing horse with a bridle and saddle would draw unwanted attention. He eyed the intricate buckles and leather straps and wondered how it all came apart. It was far more fancy than anything he had ever seen. As he stared at the horse, his decision was made for him as he heard a low moan behind him.

He turned around to see d'Artagnan beginning to stir and he quickly grabbed the horse's reins and led him out of the cave. He knotted the leather together around the pommel so the horse would not trip on it and he raced back into the cave.

Philippe had edged closer, but quickly scampered back when d'Artagnan flung an arm towards him. He mumbled something incoherent. Henri patted Philippe on the shoulder before pulling supplies out of the saddlebag. He laid out the things he had gathered from the farmhouse and tried to remember what he had seen his mother do. He crouched down by d'Artagnan and pulled at his shirt. Dried blood stuck the material to the skin and he flinched as he pulled it away. Blood still oozed from the hole and Henri choked back a lump that threatened to roll up from his stomach.

He reached for the waterskin and poured some of the liquid into the gory mess of skin and congealed blood. D'Artagnan bucked against it and Philippe skidded back towards the cave wall. With one hand, Henri tried to gently wipe at the wound while simultaneously pouring water onto it. Rivulets of red ran down the man's side and Henri wasn't sure if he had started the wound bleeding again.

Whatever the case, he laid aside the waterskin and reached for the salt canister. The small clay container was almost full. He had no idea how much salt a wound needed so he shook out a handful. As he began to pat the salt into the wound, d'Artagnan reacted violently. He cried out in pain and thrashed against the floor. Henri pulled back, out of reach of flailing arms and waited for it to stop.

Eventually it did and Henri scooted in close to his patient again. He held the strips of bandage in his hands and wondered how he was supposed to lift the man's body to wrap them around it. Philippe was not strong enough to roll his body over and Henri knew he could not get it under him without help. Finally, out of frustration he decided upon an alternative. He laid the bandages aside and reached over to unbuckle d'Artagnan's belt. He wrestled it out of the loops on his breeches and wriggled it further up his torso.

He really wanted to wash and salt the wound underneath, but simply could not manage it. Instead he pushed a wad of bandage, with a handful of salt sandwiched inside it, underneath d'Artagnan's back and maneouvered the belt underneath it. He laid another wad of bandage over the top wound before drawing the two ends of the belt across it. The buckle slid together easily and he pulled hard on it to tighten it. As the pressure on the wound increased, d'Artagnan began to thrash again. He groaned in agony before quickly succumbing to the pain once more.

Henri sank back onto the floor and brushed at his face. Weariness settled over him as the adrenaline of the afternoon began to subside. He reached for the waterskin and pulled a long draught of water from it. His stomach reacted and he thought the water was going to come back up. All of a sudden his stomach rumbled and he realised he had not eaten since breakfast.

He poured some more water over his dirty hands before reaching out for his brother.

"How about some supper?" he smiled.

Philippe looked at him questioningly, but he quickly pulled some supplies from his father's stash. Dried biscuits, cheese and salted meat was enough to keep them alive without needing to be cooked.

Henri directed his brother to a raised rock ledge before handing him a chunk of cheese and a biscuit. He sat down beside him and began to chew on a piece of salted pork.

In the flickering firelight he kept watch over the man sleeping restlessly on the floor. Having done all that he could remember, he had no idea what to do next. He didn't want to think about what would happen if any more raiders came, with nobody to defend them.

"_Papa! Come home … please!" _


	5. Chapter 5

Thank you once again for all the responses from readers in reviews and PMs. This fandom is very generous. For those who have never read my stories, I guess I need to explain how I write so I don't confuse you. The next chapters will have a lot of italics. I usually use that for people's thoughts and in this case, their dreams. I hope it makes sense, but let me know if it doesn't.

**Chapter Five**

_The whole world was on fire. A fire was roaring through the streets of Paris and everything was burning. Even the rivers had dried up from the intense heat. The very air was scorching him and it hurt to breathe. He called out for his father, but got no answer. His father was gone. The fire seemed to take on a life of its own as it surged towards him. He wondered if the fire had consumed his father._

D'Artagnan awoke to almost complete darkness. The roof above him flickered slightly as shadows engulfed it. It was all wrong! The roof seemed to move towards him and ebb away. Except it wasn't a roof. His addled mind couldn't decide what it was. He reached out a tentative hand to feel out where he was and all he found was dirt. His head rested on something that felt like his travel cloak. He just had no memory of how it came to be there. Wherever "there" was. His mouth was totally devoid of moisture and he tried to lick his lips. A sour smell hung in the air and his nose wrinkled as he tried to take a deep breath. Pain lanced through his side and he felt his head begin to swim. He chewed on his bottom lip in a desperate attempt to keep the world steady. Suddenly a face loomed into view above him and the world grew brighter. He squinted away from the brightness.

"Father?"

Henri had awoken when he heard it the first time. He had offered water and d'Artagnan had fallen back into a restless sleep. This was the second time d'Artagnan had called out for his father in the darkness. Henri knew all too well what that felt like. He desperately wanted his own father to return. He held the candle up to his face and shook his head.

"I'm Henri, remember?" He could see the confused look spread across d'Artagnan's face and for a moment he wasn't sure if the young man was even seeing him.

"Would you like some more water?" He held out the water skin and d'Artagnan tried to nod. His head was still not behaving itself and the world was still on a tilt, but he knew what was in the skin. He felt the lip of the bag rest against his own lips and a few drips of liquid slid into his mouth. Henri pulled up the bag and allowed him to swallow.

"More," he rasped out as he tried to lift his head.

As Henri gently tilted the bag once again he watched closely as d'Artagnan sagged back against the cloak. What little energy he had awoken with seemed to be almost spent.

"Where's Father?"

The words were barely a whisper, but in the stillness of the cave, Henri picked them up.

"Umm … I don't know."

At the stricken look on his friend's face he rushed to reassure him. "But he's coming!" Henri had not heard d'Artagnan mention his father the day before, other than telling them he was the one who taught him to swim. He had no idea where his father was, but his impromptu response seemed to bring relief. As it had done earlier.

"_Papa, where are you?"_

Henri settled back against the cave wall and watched as d'Artagnan drifted back into sleep. Sweat beaded across his forehead and upper lip. The shirt he was wearing was damp too. Henri glanced at the dried bloodstain and sucked in a sharp breath. He dared not do anything further with the bandages, even if he had any clue what that would be, so there was nothing to do but wait.

He could see the early rays of the morning creeping their way across the tunnel entrance and he could faintly hear the sounds of birdcalls. The world was waking up. He looked across to where Philippe was curled up in a ball. His brother's face was streaked with dirt and the stain of tears. In sleep he was still not relaxed, but Henri decided it was better than being awake.

Henri allowed his chin to drop down to his chest as he wondered what he was going to do once the daylight came. His chest constricted with fear as he watched d'Artagnan sleep. There was nothing natural or peaceful about it. Every so often he let out a low moan or called out something. Usually calling for his father or somebody else that Henri couldn't quite decipher.

He studied d'Artagnan's dark features and wondered where he came from. He didn't look like anybody Henri knew.

* * *

Aramis inspected the mare's hoof and the length of her foreleg before standing up straight. As the sun's rays crested over the horizon the three others had quickly broken camp, such as it was, while Aramis went to work.

"She is fit to ride." He nodded towards Armand who breathed a sigh of relief. He had not wanted to delay his return and it was a long walk home. He would not have asked the musketeers to wait with him so he was profoundly relieved that he could keep pace with them.

Thoughts of his boys were uppermost in his mind and he wondered what they were doing for breakfast. Had Philippe been out to the hens' roost yet to collect the eggs? Had all the eggs made it safely back inside? Was Henri enjoying bossing his little brother around, in the absence of his father? He smiled at that thought, as he knew that for all his teasing, Henri adored his little brother. For his part, Philippe thought the sun shone of Henri. He willingly trailed after him wherever he could go. It frustrated him when his legs were not long enough to climb the trees or rocks that Henri did. All he wanted to do was follow his big brother wherever he went.

A memory washed over Armand as he recalled another brother who had done the same thing. He leaned against his horse and buried his face in its neck as he fought the memory. When they lost Jules he didn't think he could ever feel such pain and live. Adalyn had gone into a despair that she had never fully recovered from. The unexpected arrival of Philippe years later had done wonders to heal their broken hearts and the little boy was their light and joy.

Armand startled as he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Athos beside him. The man simply stood and waited, without questioning. He shook off the melancholy and smiled. "I am ready to leave, if you all are."

Athos simply nodded and turned to mount his own horse. Before long the sun had risen fully and the morning awaited in all its glory. Rolling hills stretched away from the road in both directions and grasses swayed in the light breeze. It would have been a pleasant ride, had it not been for such a serious purpose. Athos took the lead and pushed them forward. For some reason he could not explain he felt an urgent need to get there.

It was mid afternoon before Armand saw his home coming into view. He frowned as there was no sign of smoke from the cooking hearth. He knew there was sufficient dried and salted food and perhaps Henri had not bothered to heat anything as the days had been so hot. As they neared the tiny stone farmhouse he called out for his boys.

The group slowed to a walk as they wheeled into the yard beside the house. Armand again called out their names as he quickly dismounted. A sickening fear gripped his heart as he tried to steady himself. The short walk to the door seemed interminable. He panicked as he saw the door standing open and his boys were still not answering his frantic calls.

The others trailed behind him as he ran into the house. Various things were strewn across the wooden bench, but there were no signs of struggle. Once again, Athos laid a hand on the stricken father's shoulder.

Armand spun back towards him. "The caves! I told them to run to the caves if there was trouble!"

"Show us," Athos swept a hand towards the door and Aramis and Porthos were already backing out to their horses.

Armand gathered his horse's reins and clambered up into the saddle. He reeled left and whipped the horse with the reins. The others simply chased after the frantic father, hoping they had not tarried too long on the road.

As Armand raced across the meadow he suddenly pulled his horse up short.

Athos reined in behind him and quickly saw the reason for his abrupt stop. An already bloating body lay on the ground, in the sun and dozens of flies swarmed around it. The man had dropped a pistol by his side and another pool of blood lay off to the side. The grass all around was heavily trampled and somebody had clearly dragged something away.

"Henri! Philippe!" Armand screamed out their names, desperately willing them to answer him. The silence echoed in his ears and he smothered a groan of fear. The image of his wife's face as she lay dying in his arms threatened to unseat him. He swayed in the saddle and Aramis pulled alongside him to steady him.

"The caves?" Athos reminded him. "Which way?"

Armand didn't respond, but simply kicked his horse into motion again. In other circumstances the ride across the meadow had been a pleasant experience. Now it was just a terrifying dash as he followed the trail of crushed grass.

As they crested the next ridge, all of them saw it. A black horse was grazing in the meadow below. All except Armand recognized him immediately. As they pulled alongside d'Artagnan's horse it nudged into the others. The four horses knew each other as well as their riders did. Armand wasn't sure what to make of it as he had no idea whose horse it was. The fact it wore similar tack to the others was not lost on him.

"D'Artagnan!" Athos roared into the open meadow. He swung around in his saddle, hoping that his young friend was simply off resting somewhere and had turned his horse out to graze. In his heart, he knew that wasn't the case as no musketeer would willingly be this far from his horse.

"D'Artagnan!" Porthos raised his hand to cup his mouth as he shouted. The sound carried, but they got no reply.

"Who is d'Artagnan?" Armand looked at the three worried faces in front of him.

"Our brother," was the simple answer. Athos pushed his horse towards the remaining grass trail before it began to fade. Grass gave way to dirt and then rocks and it was impossible to tell where whatever had caused it had gone.

Armand pushed around in front of him. "This way," he pointed to their right and turned his horse up onto the rocky slope. He continued to call the boys' names frantically as he rode.

* * *

Henri watched as d'Artagnan did it again. Each time he opened his eyes they seemed less focused. He would mutter and push his arms against something.

Philippe was sitting beside him, absently tossing stones at the far wall. Suddenly he froze and glanced across towards his brother. Henri had heard it too. Voices shouting in the meadow!

The two of them huddled together and Henri wrapped a hand around his brother's ears. It took a few more minutes for him to hear the actual words being shouted.

"Papa?" he whispered in disbelief. He waited for a few moments to confirm it was actually his father's voice before scrambling for the cave entrance. He dragged his brother to the opening and pushed out into the bright sunshine.

Armand saw them first as he knew where the caves were located and he spurred his horse forward before flinging himself off at their feet. He gathered them to him and dropped to his knees in relief. The boys clung to their father and he could feel their trembling as he wrapped his arms around them. It was several minutes before he released them enough to inspect them. He saw the dried blood on both of them and he rushed to run his hands over them.

"Are you injured? Where did they hurt you?" The words rushed out in a torrent and he noted that Aramis had also dismounted and had joined him to check the boys for injury.

"It is not their blood," he announced before looking up to his brothers. A cold chill gripped his heart as he began to put the pieces together. Why was d'Artagnan's horse here and he was not? Was there another rotting corpse lying in the meadow? He saw the same fear reflected on his friends' faces before Henri spoke.

"We are not hurt, Papa. D'Artagnan saved us." Henri began to cry as he relayed the information. "But he got hurt. He's in there."

The words had no sooner left his mouth than Aramis was sprinting for the cave. If d'Artagnan had allowed the boys to leave the cave unaccompanied, something was very wrong.

_The fire was relentless. It had spread past the streets and houses of the capital and was consuming the countryside. He heard his father calling his name and he turned frantically to see which direction he was coming from. Except he couldn't see him anywhere. The flames licked at his face and he tried to swat them away. Something gripped his wrist and he tried to push it off. Father! Help me!_

Aramis knelt in the dirt beside his friend and grabbed at the flailing hands. D'Artagnan was looking at him, but clearly not seeing him. The pitiful hitch in his voice as he called for his father nearly broke Aramis' heart.

"I am here to help you. Hold still." Aramis sensed the others had come in behind him, and he called to Porthos.

"Hold his arms."

Porthos reached out for d'Artagnan's wrists and was surprised at the heat he felt in the young man's skin. Never a good sign.

Aramis drew his knife and made short work of cutting d'Artagnan's shirt from his body. He flung it aside and inspected the blood-soaked bandages underneath. On any other day he may have admired the make-shift work, but he had one focus at present. Getting to the bottom of how bad it was. He noted a deep bloodied graze on d'Artagnan's upper arm, but it was irrelevant compared to his other wound.

D'Artagnan groaned as Aramis pulled at the belt buckle, but Porthos held him still. As gently as possible, Aramis pulled at the bloodied bandage and lifted it from the wound. His nose told him before his eyes that infected skin was under that bandage. He gasped as he saw a ragged, red-rimmed hole oozing with pus mingled with blood. He expected he would need to be removing the lead ball before he noticed the second bandage underneath. He motioned to Porthos to help him roll the body over and he gently pulled away the bandage. Again, blood and pus leaked out of the hole.

"I need my supplies." The matter-of-fact tone in his voice belied his fear. This was most likely a mortal wound and he was too late. He muttered a silent prayer as Athos thrust his bag into his hands. Barely containing the tremors, he went to work on his friend.

A/N: Sorry to leave you there, but I have a few things I should be doing instead of writing this story and it will not leave me alone. I figured you would at least be happy our boys are reunited, even if d'Artagnan isn't out of the woods yet. Back soon I hope.


	6. Chapter 6

Well I almost made myself cry writing this chapter! Thank you once again for your kind reviews and comments. I'm so glad you are along for the ride.

**Chapter Six**

Athos quickly moved over to the scant remains of a fire and began to stir it up by blowing on it while simultaneously feeding it twigs. Armand had seen him move and knew what he was doing. He ran out to the horses to collect a small pot and filled it with water from his waterskin. As he returned, he could see that Athos already had a roaring fire going. He maneuvered the pot into the middle of the flames and stepped back. Athos merely nodded in response.

Henri sat with his arm firmly tucked around Philippe's shoulders. In spite of everything, he was interested in watching what the man named Aramis was doing. As he pulled away the bloodied bandages, Henri couldn't help feeling that he had somehow messed it up. If he had been able to do what his mother had done then d'Artagnan wouldn't be in so much pain. He felt his father's firm hand on his shoulder and he looked up into his face. Armand squeezed gently and smiled at him.

_No matter how fast he pushed the horse, he could not outrun the flames. The earth rolled beneath the horse's feet and he stumbled and fell. D'Artagnan felt his body pitch forward and onto the ground. Flames edged up the side of his body and he screamed as agony consumed him._

Aramis steeled himself and continued what he knew he needed to do. If he did not lance the wound and clean it properly then d'Artagnan would most certainly die. He made eye contact with Porthos who renewed his grip on d'Artagnan's arms. Tears welled in his eyes as he felt his friend's body buck against his grip. He pulled in a sharp breath and tried not to cringe as Aramis made another swipe over the wound. Athos knelt beside him and handed over wads of cloth that had been dipped in boiling water.

"Father!"

The choked off cry did nothing to help with Aramis' already frayed nerves and he hesitated. Would it be kinder to just allow d'Artagnan to succumb rather than prolong his agony? To let him join his father in peace? He swallowed back a lump in his throat and looked towards his friends. All of them had seen enough battle wounds and dying men. There was little doubt in his mind that d'Artagnan was dying right in front of him because he was not a skilled enough physician. And he had arrived too damn late!

It was said that a dying man could see his life flash before his eyes. Instead, for Aramis, he felt his own life flash before him. A future without their young Gascon friend seemed empty and bleak. The day they had first met, Porthos had half jokingly called him a lunatic. Since then he had grown on each of them to the point where it seemed unfathomable that he not be around. In that moment he made a pledge that he would not rest until he pulled d'Artagnan back from the brink. Unless of course, God had other plans.

Athos watched as Aramis seemed to win some kind of internal battle, which he could not see. He nodded as his brother pushed on with what he had been doing and discarded more bloodied rags on the ground behind him. For the next few moments, d'Artagnan struggled against Porthos' grip as Aramis finished up.

Finally, satisfied that the wound was as clean as he could manage, he sat back on his haunches and wiped his hands on another damp cloth. Without being asked, Athos handed over his bag and Aramis quickly began pulling out various items. He looked up, searching the cave for Armand.

"Is there a healer in your village? Or a herbwoman maybe?"

Armand hurried closer and nodded. "Yes, a herbwoman who is quite skilled. What do you need?"

"Tell her the nature of d'Artagnan's injuries. If she is of value, she will know what to bring. If not … " Aramis shook his head as he refused to contemplate that. He had only limited supplies in his bag and it was clearly not going to be enough.

Armand reached for his boys and kissed both on the cheek before hurrying for the cave mouth.

"I won't be long," he promised. Henri pulled Philippe closer and turned back to watch what Aramis was doing next.

Once again, Athos anticipated his needs and had spread out a strip of cloth on his lap. Aramis pulled various dried herbs from his supply and piled them onto the cloth. He grabbed both ends and twisted it together, encasing the mixture. Before applying the poultice, there was one more thing to do. He looked up and made eye contact with Porthos.

"Roll him on his side and hold him steady."

Porthos nodded at him and braced for what he knew was coming. Aramis reached into his bag and pulled out a small bottle of alcohol. He grasped the cork in his teeth and pulled it out, before spitting it aside. His hand shook a little as he held the bottle out in front of him. He suddenly felt the warmth of Athos' steadying hand on his shoulder.

Aramis grit his teeth and poured the sterilising liquid over the open wound. D'Artagnan's back arched violently and Porthos struggled to hold him still. The scream that ripped from his lips startled them all. Finally his body collapsed on itself and he slumped back to the ground.

"'bout time you stopped fighting me," Porthos muttered. "Almost ready to punch you." He was still holding d'Artagnan's arms firmly and he slowly loosened his grip while still keeping contact.

Aramis rubbed the back of his hand across his forehead before reaching for his stock of bandage strips. He showed Athos how to hold the poultice in place and he began to wind the strips around d'Artagnan's torso. He was thankful that he had already passed out or this process would be a whole lot worse.

After the stress of dealing with that wound, it was a simple matter to clean and dress d'Artagnan's arm. By the time he was done, Aramis was visibly exhausted. Athos had laid his own cloak on the ground and the three of them gently transferred their patient off his own filthy and bloodied cloak onto a clean bed. Porthos began to gather up the rags that lay scattered behind them along with d'Artagnan's cloak and he rolled it into a ball. He seemed unsure what to do with it next. To his way of thinking, there was far too much of his friend's lifeblood in the bundle for him to simply throw it away. After looking around aimlessly he finally settled on placing it against the cave wall, out of the way.

Aramis knelt down again next to d'Artagnan and began to wipe his face with a cloth and the last of the water in the pot. His hand was shaking and he wished he could make it stop. He was unaware that he began to recite the rosary under his breath as he cleansed his friend of the grime that encased him. He could feel the heated skin underneath his fingers and he frowned in frustration. Athos knelt on the other side and watched helplessly.

"What now?"

Aramis wasn't listening and Athos tried again.

"Aramis. What do we do now?" The anguish in his voice was palpable.

Aramis refused to make eye contact as he continued his ministrations.

"We wait. We pray. We hope." The words came out in a flat monotone. Porthos moved over behind Athos as he heard the distinct lack of hope in their tone.

He was vaguely aware that the boys were silently watching the whole drama, but for the moment, he didn't care. If Aramis had given up hope then … then …. He reined in the logical end to that thought and refused to allow it a voice. Wherever there was life, there was hope! He would not believe otherwise.

"Riders!" Henri felt the prickle of fear ride up his back as he heard the sound of approaching horses. It should be his father, but he couldn't shake the shiver of doubt. Before he knew it, both Athos and Porthos were at the cave entrance, swords drawn and ready to fight. Aramis reached for his own sword and stood up with his back to d'Artagnan.

"It's Armand," Athos waved them back as he sheathed his sword. Minutes later Armand strode into the cave with a young woman behind him.

"This is Marie."

She carried a bulging satchel full of supplies and without invitation she headed straight for where Aramis was sitting.

Armand walked back to gather his boys to his side. Having left them once, it was going to be a long time before he was comfortable having them out of his sight. As it was, he had raced his horse to the village and back. He had only left them because he knew they were in the safest of hands and he owed them a great debt.

Marie knelt down beside Aramis and laid her satchel down between them. She looked at the young man lying on the cloak and couldn't contain a gasp of shock. His skin was burning and as she looked into Aramis' eyes she saw that he knew the truth. His friend was dying. As someone who had devoted her life to learning the ways of healing, she would always give all that she had until there was nothing left to do. What scared her was how very close to that point they already were.

"What do you need from me, Monsieur?"

Aramis saw his own fear reflected in her face. While he could fool his friends to a point, he knew that she would see straight to the heart of it. D'Artagnan was dying and he had failed to save him. A mixture of grief and anger tore through his gut and he struggled to stay upright.

"I only have enough herbs for one more drawing poultice. I have little in the way of pain relief or for his fever." It was supposed to be a reconnaissance mission and report back to Treville. Never had he expected it to turn into this nightmare. Given something to focus on, Aramis was able to pull himself together. The fact Marie had brought what he needed gave him a glimmer of hope. Perhaps they would get that miracle after all.

_Constance! Why was she in the midst of the inferno? Her voice rose over the flames, but he could not catch a glimpse of her anywhere. The idea that she could die in the fire tore at his throat and he tried to warn her._

"Run!"

Philippe startled at the urgent command. The last time he had heard it he had almost been trampled by gigantic legs and hooves that swarmed around him. His bottom lip began to tremble and his father reached over to pull him into his arms. As he whispered comfort over his son's head he kept watch on the stranger who continued to call out the same word.

Marie rifled through her satchel and began to lay out bundles of various herbs. Aramis knew the uses of most of them, although one was something he had not used before. In fact he was not even sure he had seen it before. She called Athos over and asked him to refill and re-boil the little pot. Grateful for something useful to do, he quickly had the pot in the fire and stood guard impatiently as it slowly came to the boil. His mother had told him that a watched pot never boils and he glanced away every so often, in the hope that somehow he could make it boil faster. He knew he was being ridiculous, but could not help himself. His protégé, the _boy _they had convinced him was worth mentoring, was dying and it was his fault. He should have insisted that at least one of them had accompanied d'Artagnan on his trip to Gascony. No matter the argument he had put up to stop them, Athos knew he should have insisted.

As the small pot finally began to sizzle and hiss he carefully tugged at it with the corner of his cloak and brought it over between Aramis and Marie.

Aramis watched as Marie pulled a dried yellow flower out from her bundles and began to sprinkle a handful into the water. The smell was pungent and immediately filled the air. She looked up at the man next to her and saw agreement in his face. The herb was powerful and therefore dangerous if the quantities were not administered correctly, but he agreed with her assessment. Anything weaker was not going to be enough. They may very well kill their patient in the process of trying to help him, but it was clear that without intervention he was dying anyway.

She allowed the herbs to steep for a few minutes before taking a spoon from her satchel and skimming them out. She sniffed at the water and appeared satisfied by the potency. After adding some cool water from the waterskin, she edged closer to d'Artagnan. Aramis maneouvered himself around to take d'Artagnan's head onto his lap. He reached over with a piece of twisted cloth and dipped it into the pot. As he gently prised open his patient's mouth he knew it was going to be a long process to get enough of the potion into his body for it to be of any help. They could not trust him to swallow it on his own and they had no wish to choke him. The only alternative they had was a long and steady drip feed that would achieve their purpose.

Marie watched closely and was satisfied that the man knew what he was doing. For a musketeer, he was a fine healer. She chewed on her lip as she knew that it was inevitable that musketeers would need field medics. Her thoughts turned to the patient she had left, to come and attend to this one. Armand had been insistent that she come at once and she could see that he was right to call her. Aramis had already done a fine job by the time she arrived, but he was short on supplies.

"Monsieur, I … " she began hesitantly. "I can see that you have things in hand and I have a young woman in labour who needs my assistance too. I am sorry, but I must take my leave for a while. I will return as soon as I can though," she rushed to assure him. Aramis barely looked up from d'Artagnan's face as he continued the steady drip of medication into his mouth.

"Thank you, mademoiselle. We are in your debt."

"God be with you," she whispered before brushing the damp hair back off d'Artagan's face. As she stood to leave, she deliberately left her satchel where it was.

"Take whatever you need and I will return with more. If I am delayed at all, send Armand for fresh supplies. He knows where to find me."

Athos escorted her to her horse, without speaking a word. So far, Aramis had not given a prognosis and he was fearful to ask. As he helped Marie onto her horse, she read the distress in his features and smiled at him.

"You have a fighter in there. He should be dead already, but he is not. Give him a greater reason to live than to die. I have seen it before. The difference between those who live and die is sometimes inexplicable, but if somebody is firmly anchored in the world of the living, they are less likely to cross into the next world.

Athos simply nodded at her words as she turned her horse onto the rocky slope. He stood and watched as she rode away across the meadow.

"Keep fighting, d'Artagnan. We are not done yet." He whispered the words to himself, but he wanted to go and shout them in the ear of the young man inside. The greater fear gripped his heart that d'Artagnan may yet be determined to reunite with his father and would not want to stay with them.

Athos had never put much faith in money, but he would happily give every last cent of his family inheritance if he could buy a miracle. He looked up towards the sky as tears threatened at the corner of his eyes. He angrily blinked them away.

"Help him!"


	7. Chapter 7

Thank you as always for your comments and thoughts. I'm sorry I can't reply to anonymous reviews. To Laverock, you made me laugh! I'm pretty sure Lucas isn't talking to me anymore. I've already given him more than enough grief in his short little life.

I have to say one of the hardest parts of a new story is coming up with believable names for characters. I cringed when I just realised that Armand is the Cardinal's name. Oh well, too late! I also had picked an identical name to somebody else's story, with Henri DuPont, which I only just read. Maybe we used the same website to find French names.

Anyhow, on with the torture.

**Chapter Seven**

Athos stood outside the cave, long after Marie had disappeared from sight. The heat of the day still had not subsided and he was grateful that they were currently camped inside a cave. It was relatively cool inside and a little more comfortable for d'Artagnan. He watched as the sun began to dip below the horizon and he realised that nobody had gathered any more firewood yet. It would be dark soon and Aramis was going to need all the light he could get.

He closed his eyes and tried not to allow fear to take hold of him. He had seen far too many soldiers go to sleep and never wake up. He had seen Aramis' struggle to keep himself together and that alone told him all he needed to know. Even in the tightest of situations, even under enemy fire, his friend could always be relied on to bring the humour. When he had ministered to either Athos or Porthos, he was usually sarcastic with them, cajoling them into wanting to get up and hit him. If they could do that, then they were going to be just fine.

This time he was different. This time, Athos had seen the hesitation in his actions and doubt written all over his face. Aramis thought he was hiding it, but Athos knew him too well. If d'Artagnan died from a raider's bullet, Aramis would blame himself. Logic would have nothing to do with it.

Athos pushed himself to move and wandered down the slope to find firewood. As he gathered the bundle in his arms he felt a growing rage within his chest. What kind of man would attack unarmed children? He realised that nobody had actually had time yet to ask the boys what had happened and how d'Artagnan came to be involved. As he hastened back into the cave he decided he needed to know. If d'Artagnan died then he needed to at least know there was some honour in it.

As Athos walked back in he could see Armand pulling supplies from a stack of crates at the back of the wall. The soldier in him was impressed that the man had planned so well to protect his boys. There was food and blankets and obviously they had built the fire to start with. At that moment, Athos realised that the raids were not just small inconveniences. This man had anticipated an attack while he was away and had given his boys the best chance to survive. It had taken courage and desperation for him to travel to Paris to ask for help. Athos felt his anger flaring again as he recalled how the King had refused help until his wine supplies had been attacked. It was not a soldier's place to question the King, but Athos had to grip the wood a little tighter to keep his anger in check.

Porthos had seen him come in and saw the firewood. Realising that it was not enough to last the night, he simply slipped out to go and gather more.

It was not cold enough to need the fire, but something about a light in the dark was comforting. Armand had moved his boys over to the fire and was busy pulling out chunks of cheese and salted pork from the supplies. There were only two plates so he piled them both high and laid them on the ground. He waved towards the plates and went back to get a waterskin. "Please, help yourselves. I'm sorry it is very basic."

Athos nodded in thanks as he laid the firewood down. "Travel rations are always basic, but filling. We appreciate your hospitality."

He looked towards Aramis, who was still painstakingly drip feeding something into d'Artagnan. He had not looked up at the mention of food and Athos knew that focused look all too well. He would not eat until he was done and no amount of arguing would change that.

Athos settled himself on the ground by the fire and looked across at the boys. For the first time, he began to really pay attention to them. The older one was a tall lad, like his father. He would have guessed an age of eleven or twelve, but was not often around children and was not certain. The younger one obviously resembled his mother as Athos could see very little of his father's features. If pressed, he would have said the boy was around five or so. It suddenly occurred to him that he had not yet heard the younger one even speak. He observed as Armand sat down beside them and pulled Philippe into his lap. The little boy snuggled back into his father's protective arms and began to gnaw on a hunk of cheese.

Porthos came back in with an armload of firewood and deposited it where Athos had left his. He brushed his hands on his breeches before reaching for one of the plates and grabbing some salted pork. He nodded to Armand in thanks for the supper and settled down beside Athos. He too had seen that Aramis was not yet ready to stop and eat. Feeling slightly helpless, he attacked the chunk of meat and soon reached for another.

Athos waited until Henri appeared to have finished eating before trying to get to the bottom of things with him. He noted the lad leaned against his father's shoulder and stared into the fire. The tension in his face had not relaxed and Athos wondered just what he had been witness to.

He cleared his throat and wondered how to start. He was more used to interrogating adults and had no problem with court diplomacy, but this was different. He knew he was dealing with traumatised children and had no wish to add to it. Still, he needed to know.

"Henri, I have to say, I am most impressed at how you managed to get d'Artagnan into this cave. I can't imagine he made it easy for you in his condition."

Aramis looked up as Athos began to talk. He knew that if d'Artagnan had been left outside in the heat, he would most surely be dead already. He too was both impressed and grateful.

Henri barely looked up, but didn't answer immediately. Armand looked across at him and smiled. A compliment from a musketeer was high praise indeed. His boys often played at being musketeers and he knew how much his eldest son looked up to them. He was surprised to see his son did not look pleased.

Both Athos and Porthos had seen the look too and wondered. Since Henri made no move to reply, Athos tried again.

"Our friend was on his way home from Gascony. We had no idea he was here. Could you tell us how he came to be with you?"

Henri looked stricken by the question. His stomach churned as he realised that, despite what had said, d'Artagnan had simply stumbled into them and would probably die because of them. As he looked up into expectant faces, he knew he owed them an answer.

"It was such a hot day. I took Philippe to the pond to cool off and we were … I was … I was not paying attention. I'm sorry, Papa!" Armand reached across to squeeze his shoulder.

"Sorry for what?"

"I did not hear the horse until he was already there. If it had been a raider, we … I don't think … " his voice trailed away as he sucked in a breath.

"D'Artagnan?" Athos already knew the answer, but he needed the boy to continue and wanted him to focus.

Henri nodded in shame. Thankfully the rider was a friend and not a raider or he and his brother would probably not be alive. "He said his horse needed water. When he told me he was a musketeer, I didn't believe him."

Porthos raised an eyebrow in amusement. He knew how much it irked d'Artagnan when anybody questioned him on it. "That would have gone down well."

"He had no uniform and he was dirty. And … I thought musketeers were older."

Porthos chuckled at that last comment. "We _have _told him he still looks like a pup. His whiskers haven't grown in yet!" The amusement quickly faded as he looked across to where that pup was lying too quietly.

"He pulled out a jacket with the thing on his shoulder and showed us. Then he decided to go swimming. He showed me how to hold my breath and swim underwater!"

Athos almost smiled at that thought. It sounded exactly like their young friend.

"Philippe wouldn't go in very deep. When it was time to get out we heard the riders coming. There were three of them and we could not outrun them with all of us on d'Artagnan's horse. He stopped and got off and told us to ride for the village."

Armand stared at his boys and hugged Philippe a little tighter. The boy had fallen asleep in his lap and he was grateful that he was being spared the retelling of their ordeal.

Henri struggled to continue as he recalled the horror of riding off while seeing d'Artagnan surrounded by raiders.

"I thought they would kill him. When one of them came after us I thought we were going to die. But then I saw another horse behind him and knew that it was d'Artagnan. The man caught up to us and Philippe was knocked off our horse. I tried to get to him, Papa, I really did!" Henri closed his eyes and tried not to cry.

He felt a comforting hand on his shoulder once again and he tried to continue. "The man was going to shoot Philippe! D'Artagnan threw himself over Philippe and the man shot his arm. D'Artagnan still had his sword and he stabbed the man in the belly. I don't know how, but somehow he got d'Artagnan's pistol from behind him and shot him again."

Athos closed his eyes and could picture the scene in his mind. By the sounds of it, his young protégé had not thought it through as he went to protect a child. He had simply reacted. Athos knew how many times he had chided d'Artagnan on allowing his heart to rule his head. In this instance, he hated being proved right. He shook himself a little as he realised Henri had continued talking.

" … didn't know if his horse would let me lead him, but he did. We dragged him here and I tried … I tried to remember what Mama had done." Tears welled in his eyes and he looked back towards his father.

Armand tried to breathe past the lump in his throat. The mention of his wife hit him in the chest and he forced himself to relax. Right now, his boy needed him to stay calm.

Aramis had been listening intently. He had finally finished with the herbal potion and he was still holding d'Artagnan's head in his hands. The flush of his skin and the heat under his palms was worrying, but what was more alarming was how often his eyes rolled open, without reacting to seeing Aramis' face above him. His patient's breathing was laboured and clearly painful. The others seemed to have finished their meal, but Aramis had no appetite for food. His stomach actually rebelled at the idea.

Suddenly he realised that Henri was weeping and he looked across at the boy. He had clearly missed something.

"I'm so sorry! I didn't know what else to do! I couldn't remember anything else!" The distress and guilt in his voice jolted Aramis into focus. Was the boy actually apologising for not doing enough?

"Henri … there is something you need to know."

All eyes turned to Aramis as he faltered in his words. He looked down towards the face he held in his hands and tried to rein in his emotions. When he finally looked up, Henri was wiping at his face and waiting expectantly.

"If it were not for you, d'Artagnan would have been dead by the time we arrived."

Porthos looked across at the boy with new eyes. He had suspected as much, but hearing it confirmed by Aramis, hit him hard.

"If you had not salted the wound, he would have bled to death, probably yesterday."

Henri stared at the man he had watched intently all afternoon. His skills made Henri feel completely incapable and yet, here he was, telling him otherwise. A glimmer of hope crossed his face before it was dashed again.

"I do not know if I have the skills to save him, but if nothing else, you have given us a chance to see our little brother one last time."

Athos closed his eyes and refused to listen to his friend's words. If Aramis, their resident optimist, was giving such a dire report, then they really were at the point of desperation.

Armand looked across at his eldest son and saw the effects of exhaustion and stress taking their toll. He slowly stood up, still carrying his youngest son in his arms. "Time for some rest, I think."

Before long, he had laid out a blanket on the ground and gently laid Philippe on it. The little boy murmured in his sleep, before Henri quickly lay down beside him. He reached out for his younger brother and wrapped an arm around him. It was only a short while before sleep claimed him and Armand stood up to go back and sit with the men. None of them had moved from their places.

"Did you mean what you said?" Armand looked across at Aramis. "Is he really dying?"

The lack of response was telling.

Athos stood up and moved over to where Aramis was sitting. He leaned in very close to his brother's face while purposely clamping a hand on d'Artagnan's chest. "You said it yourself, Aramis. He survived one night that he should not have. He _will_ survive this night too. And the next. And the next! We are _not _letting him go. Do you hear me?"

Aramis blinked back tears and stared at Athos' resolute face. He trusted that face implicitly. He would willingly follow the man into any battle. Damn it, he would follow him into Hell itself. But he knew that this night was going to be a long one. D'Artagnan's temperature was rising and he was already severely weakened. They still had a long way to go and he wasn't sure that Athos' conviction was enough to pull them through it.

"Do … you … hear … me?" Athos demanded an answer.

Aramis barely managed to nod as he looked down at his patient's restless face.

"The question is, does _he _hear you?"


	8. Chapter 8

Oh man! This story is doing my head in. I should know better because once I start writing, it takes over my head until I finish it. Debbie, I think you and I are on the same wavelength and I hope you like this chapter. I'm glad you are enjoying it and very much appreciate your thoughts and comments. Thank you again for taking time to review and letting me know what you think.

**Chapter Eight**

Captain Treville leaned over the railing and watched the sparring in the yard below. Despite the large group of men who were matched in various challenges, the yard somehow seemed empty. He and Athos had walked through many challenges together over the years and whenever his lieutenant was absent, he felt it keenly. Of course the man's two friends made life interesting for the Captain as well and he smiled slightly at their often-times ridiculous antics. Despite what they thought, there was very little he did not know about it. Aramis' latest prank on Porthos brought a full smile to his lips.

"You're a courageous man," he muttered to himself. "Or a Spanish fool!" Either way, Treville was sure the big man would not allow the slight to go unrewarded. He knew that none of them would allow it to happen where he could see, but word always got back to him somehow. Treville had far more sources than most of his men gave him credit for.

He watched as a recruit was taunted into allowing his anger get the better of him and swung a sword in a wide arc. The older man assigned to train him landed his own sword just slightly across the young man's neck. Treville scowled at the inexperienced young man. In a real fight, he'd now be dead, but his trainer had pulled up short of the fatal blow. The situation below brought to mind another young man he had watched make the same mistake, many times. Until Athos had trained it out of him. D'Artagnan had a natural aptitude with the blade and once he had learned to pull in his emotions and think with his head, he had grown enormously in his skills.

Treville watched as the men below began to pack away their training gear and he noted that the sun was dipping over the rooftops. He sighed as he wondered for the umpteenth time when their newest musketeer would return. He had been the one to deliver the bad news to d'Artagnan that his farm had been destroyed. He knew the ramifications for the young man and wished desperately that he could have done more. Going toe-to-toe with LeBarge in the King's challenge had left Treville with a seriously damaged shoulder, but it had at least given d'Artagnan a chance for some justice. It also resulted in his commission and Treville took a measure of comfort in knowing the young man had at last gained something out of coming to Paris, after all that he had lost.

When d'Artagnan came to him and said he had affairs to settle in Gascony he had suggested somebody accompany him. For reasons best known to himself, d'Artagnan had repeatedly declined. Athos had made his displeasure known to his captain, but Treville refused to override the decision, no matter how much he wanted to. It was not official business and he could not force the issue. It did not stop him worrying though. He scrubbed a hand through his hair and turned back towards his office.

* * *

_The river of fire had spread into a raging lake. He wondered if this was what Hell felt like. He had heard the priests talk of a lake of unending fire. A place of unceasing torment. He could hear his father's voice calling to him, but somehow there was never any sight of him. In the intensity of the fire he could do nothing. Out of the smoke, wild hands grasped at him. He felt them on his face, holding his arms, trying to pull him under. His chest felt heavy and as much as he wanted to scream for help, he could not. His one piece of relief in the midst of his torment was that Constance had somehow escaped. At least one of them was free._

Porthos could hold his own against any man he had ever gone up against. Nobody had bested him in a raw, hands-on challenge in a very long time. He knew he could easily subdue d'Artagnan if he chose to. His fear was, that in holding back from hurting him, he was not actually helping him either.

Hours earlier, Athos had somehow managed to convince Aramis to take an hour or two to catch some sleep. He had objected vehemently, until Athos pointed out that fainting on his feet would not help d'Artagnan in the slightest. It was only because he knew what was coming that Aramis reluctantly decided he needed some rest. He was going to need his wits about him, not falling asleep when needed. Athos had promised to wake him if need be, but in the end it was d'Artagnan himself who woke Aramis.

At first d'Artagnan had begun to mumble incoherent words. As the fever rose, so did his obvious disorientation. Aramis had already stripped him of his boots and breeches hours before in an effort to cool his body. Porthos had joked that d'Artagnan would kill him for leaving him in his smalls in front of others, but the attempt to lighten the air had fallen flat.

Athos had been washing him down with cooling rags as Aramis would do, but it appeared to be having little effect.

"Father! Where are you?" The anguish in the words was heartbreaking.

DArtagnan pulled against Porthos' grip and tried to sit up. Porthos pushed both hands against his chest and forced him back to the ground. The bandage around his waist was seeping blood. Before he had a chance to turn and call for Aramis, the man was already by his side. Aramis tugged at the bandage and could see the poultice underneath was soaked in fluid. He drew his knife and sliced the bandage loose before discarding it all behind him. He had already made up several new poultices from the herbs Marie had left behind and he reached for one out of her satchel along with a fresh strip of bandage.

_The hands were trying to pull him back under and he knew his one chance to escape was to fight them. He had to escape. His father needed his help. Shrouded figures in black had already dragged his father away into the darkness. He heard the name Athos being whispered amongst them and knew he was the one responsible.  
_

"Father! I'm coming."

Athos felt an icy hand grip his heart. Marie's advice echoed in his mind and words of fear whispered in his ears.

"_You are losing him. He will follow his father into the next world because you failed to anchor him in this one."_

He would never know what prompted it beyond desperation. Athos dropped down to his knees by d'Artagnan's head. He could do nothing to help Aramis and Porthos was almost sitting on the boy already. Instead he leaned down and began to speak urgently into d'Artagnan's ear.

"I'm here, my son. I'm right here. You don't need to go anywhere."

His hands reached out again and he began to wipe a cooling rag over d'Artagnan's face. He kept up a steady stream of words as he did so. When he thought about it later he could not recall what he had said, but somehow, he urgently needed to convince d'Artagnan that his father was still with him. Aramis listened in amazement as he continued to wrap a fresh bandage around the wound. Armand helped him to pass the bandage underneath d'Artagnan's back while Porthos struggled to keep him still. By the time he was done, d'Artagnan had settled a little and Porthos finally pulled back.

Athos watched in alarm as d'Artagnan's eyes appeared to track him for one moment, only to flit wildly away from him the next.

_Hope flared in his heart for the first time. His father's voice whispered to him in the darkness and he turned his head to find where it was coming from. _

"He does not see you." Aramis spoke softly enough that only Athos heard him. "He sees phantoms."

Athos swallowed hard and continued what he was doing. How did a soldier fight a phantom? Give him a sword or a pistol and he could do whatever needed to be done. He was in unfamiliar territory with no idea what to do except follow his instincts.

"Father?" The question was barely a whisper. Athos leaned in closer again and grasped d'Artagnan's hand firmly in his.

"I'm right here."

"_And I'm not letting you go!"_

* * *

The first rays of morning crept across the cave mouth. As Aramis had told them it would be, it had been a long night. D'Artagnan alternated between struggling violently against them and settling into Athos' arms. Each time his delirium brought out his inner anguish they were reminded acutely that the boy had never really had time to mourn his father's death. So much had happened in such a short time and he had kept his thoughts mostly to himself. Now it was apparent to them all just how raw that pain still was. He had buried it in training and pushing himself hard, but his tortured mind was currently spilling his heart's secrets for all to hear.

Aramis watched discreetly as Athos ran a hand through d'Artagnan's sweat-soaked hair. Somewhere along the line, during one of d'Artagnan's more intense reactions, Athos had pulled the boy to him and wrapped his arms protectively around him. He had held on grimly through the fever-induced thrashing and finally d'Artagnan had sagged back into a restless sleep.

Aramis crouched down in front of him and laid a hand against d'Artagnan's cheek. Athos could see the fear in his eyes.

"This fever just will not break. We need to cool him somehow."

Porthos stood helplessly behind him. Armand was sitting beside his boys, not surprised that they were both asleep. They had been woken frequently through the night and he knew they were already exhausted. Suddenly a thought occurred to him.

"What about taking him to the pond?"

Aramis whipped around at the man's words. "How far is it from here?"

"Not far. About fifteen minutes or so on horseback."

Athos watched as Aramis considered how they would manage getting their patient onto a horse. "I will take him. Help me get him outside and I will take him."

"Let me get my supplies first and I'll meet you out there." Aramis hurried to gather up Marie's satchel, along with his own things.

Armand gently shook Henri awake and filled him in on what was happening. "Stay here with your brother. You know where we will be." He kissed the boy on the forehead and stood up to help.

Porthos pulled out his cloak and they gently wrapped d'Artagnan into its folds. Between them all they carried his body out of the cave and waited while Athos gathered his horse's reins. To Aramis' mind it was a little too close to a funeral shroud, but he clamped his mouth shut. Porthos had removed all the saddles the day before, but Athos had no problem pulling himself up with the help of his horse's thick mane. As he settled on the horse's broad back, he reached out as the others passed d'Artagnan up into his lap. He wrapped an arm around the boy and grabbed hold of the reins again.

In minutes, Armand was leading them away from the cave and into the meadow below. As the pond finally came into view he could see why d'Artagnan had initially stopped and swam there. He reluctantly allowed the others to lift d'Artagnan down from his arms, but he quickly dismounted and pulled off his boots. They laid the cloak on the ground and Athos grew impatient as each of the others also removed their boots. He sank to the ground, chest deep in the water and reached for d'Artagnan. As they carried their patient into the water, his body bucked against their grip. Once again, Athos pulled the boy to his chest and wrapped his arms around him. Aramis immediately began to sponge soothing water over his face and hair.

"Porthos, I need to steep another brew for him." Aramis knew that the simple instruction carried all the information his friend needed. He did not need to stop what he was doing to explain further.

Porthos climbed onto the embankment and began looking around for twigs and sticks. Armand realised what he was doing and he laid a hand on Porthos' arm.

"Let me do it. Go. Be with your friend," he waved an arm back towards the group. "I can boil the water."

Porthos glanced over at Aramis and realised it didn't matter who built the fire. He nodded in thanks and strode out into the water again. As he settled beside Athos he could see the tension in his face. D'Artagnan's ravaged body trembled in his arms. He appeared to be cold and Porthos looked askance at Aramis.

"His body is confused. It cannot tell hot from cold at the moment."

"Father?" d'Artagnan pushed weakly against Athos' chest, but the man simply held on tighter and spoke calmly over his head.

"I am right here. I'm not letting you go."

Porthos watched as Athos blinked back tears.

He reached over for d'Artagnan's arm and squeezed it as he clamped the other hand on Athos' back. "_We _are right here. And none of us is letting you go."


	9. Chapter 9

This story is keeping me awake at night! It's 1:30 in the morning here. Thank you so much once again for your time in reviews and PMs. Very much appreciated.

**Chapter Nine**

Athos felt his eyelids drooping and he struggled to keep awake. The warmth of the day, combined with prolonged lack of sleep on top of intense stress and his mind was beginning to wander. An irrational thought floated through his head that if he fell asleep, when he woke up again, d'Artagnan would be gone. It had happened before. He went to sleep one night and when he woke up the next morning, Thomas was dead. The logical side of him knew that the two situations were worlds apart, but his logical side was rapidly losing ground to exhaustion.

For the better part of the morning they had alternated between sitting in the cool water with d'Artagnan and allowing him time to sleep fitfully in the shade of the trees. Athos wasn't sure, but Aramis seemed confident that it was working to bring the boy's temperature down. Athos wasn't certain if that was due to the cooling effect of the water or another dose of whatever he had drugged him with, or both, but at least d'Artagnan's rambling conversations seemed to have subsided a little.

"_When did we all revert to calling you a boy?" _Athos watched d'Artagnan's face as he slept and smiled slightly. He knew just how much the young man would hate to know they had all begun to do so.

"What's so funny?"

"Hmmm?" Athos looked up as Porthos sat down beside him on the log.

"I said, 'what's so funny?'"

Athos shook his head as he realised he had been caught off-guard. "Just thinking."

Porthos waited for the rest of the answer, but seemed to know he wasn't going to get it. He looked across to where Aramis was sprawled on his back with his arm flung over his eyes. He was exhausted and needed to rest, but refused to do so without being, quite literally, within arm's reach of his patient. In fact he had his other arm stretched out and in contact with d'Artagnan's chest.

"Why don't you get some rest too?" Porthos knew he was pushing his luck, but Athos seemed almost dead on his feet. The older man began to object and he jumped in to cut him off.

"I'll stand guard. I'm the only one with a weapon anyway," he grinned.

Athos just glared at him. In their haste to leave the cave he had not even thought to strap on a weapon's belt. Neither had Aramis apparently. Porthos would never let them live it down that he was the only one who managed to bring any weapons along when they were clearly in dangerous territory. He had sent Armand back to see to his boys and discreetly asked him to bring back what he needed.

It was a measure of how distracted he was and he smiled slightly at the irony. How many times had he chided d'Artagnan over letting his heart rule his actions?

Finally he decided that Porthos was right. He could barely keep his eyes open. He pushed himself up off the log and walked across to the grassy area where Porthos' cloak was laid out. D'Artagnan was sleeping, but his face was creased with tension. As he sat down, Athos reached over to brush the boy's hair out of his face. It was a familiar gesture that he would never have contemplated a few days ago and yet now it seemed the most natural thing in the world. D'Artagnan responded to the touch by muttering something under his breath.

Athos sat and watched for a few more moments before he heard Porthos clear his throat.

"Bit hard to sleep sitting up."

Athos pointedly ignored him.

"He's not going anywhere while you sleep, you know."

He snapped his head up at that one. Somehow his friend had just voiced his greatest fear.

"I know!"

"Then sleep!" Porthos watched his friend closely. "Don't make me punch you. And don't think I won't."

Athos chuckled as he looked across at his friend smirking at him. "I do believe you would."

Porthos simply raised an eyebrow at him, waiting until Athos stretched out on the ground beside d'Artagnan.

* * *

It was around midday before Marie pushed her horse up the rocky slope. It had been an arduous night and her eyes were rimmed red from lack of sleep. She would have preferred to be heading for her own bed, but somehow she knew she would not rest until she knew the fate of the young man she had left behind the day before. Something felt unsettled in her heart as she knew that while she had ushered two new lives into the world, the men may well have ushered one out.

As she dismounted from her horse she was startled to find herself at the wrong end of a pistol. Armand stepped out of the cave and quickly dropped the weapon to his side.

"Sorry! I heard your horse and thought … I'm sorry."

"We are all a little on edge these days. I've brought more supplies and I … " The words faltered as she scanned the man's face. There was no sense bringing supplies for a dead man and Armand's face gave her little hope.

"Armand? Please tell me he's not gone."

"His fever kept rising. We took him to the pond to cool him down. When I left, he was still breathing."

Marie blew out a sharp breath in relief and nodded. It was a good idea in desperate circumstances. "Then I will head down there."

Armand reached out a hand to her. "Wait for a few moments and we'll be ready to go too."

At first he wasn't sure about using d'Artagnan's horse as it seemed somehow wrong, but he knew it made sense to use both horses to carry three of them rather than burden just one horse. He hoisted Philippe up in front of Henri before climbing into the saddle himself. The horse stamped a little at an unfamiliar rider, but soon responded to a firm, experienced hand.

* * *

_She was the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. For some reason he would never be able to fathom, she had returned the love he offered her. He watched her glide gracefully across the ballroom as he spun her on his arm. Every man in the room watched her dance. Every woman envied her. He felt his breath catch in his throat as she spun away from him and back into his arms again. The faint scent of her perfume wafted past his face and he breathed it in. The music swelled in his ears and he spun her one last time. Her face blurred before his eyes as he felt his own world spinning out of control. By the time it stopped she had disappeared and he was lying sprawled on the floor. He opened his eyes and tried to steady himself. Only a few feet in front of him lay his brother. Blood ran red across the floor!_

Aramis grasped Athos by the shoulders and shook him urgently. "Wake up!"

He wasn't quick enough to pull himself back from a flying fist and Athos' hand connected with the side of his face. Ignoring the pain, Aramis grabbed his friend's wrists. "Wake up, Athos."

Porthos came running at the commotion and was stunned to see Aramis crouched over Athos. He dropped the waterskin he had been filling and threw himself to the ground beside Aramis.

"What's wrong? I only left for a few minutes!"

Athos blinked his eyes several times as he pushed Aramis away from him. The sour taste of the dream lingered in his mouth and he wanted to spit it out. Dread filled his chest and he turned back to where he had been lying moments earlier. He fully expected to see Thomas' dead body lying on the ground, pooled in it's own blood. He choked back a sob as he saw d'Artagnan instead. For a moment his dream blurred with reality until he heard Aramis calling his name.

The image of blood faded away and he tentatively reached out a hand. There was dark hair where just moments before had been light brown hair. Olive skin instead of Thomas' ruddy complexion. His hand shook as he checked for signs of life.

"Still with us," he whispered.

"Athos," Aramis' voice called him back to the moment. He looked up to see his friends eyeing him with concern.

He licked his lips, but could not make himself respond. The fear was still too close to the surface and he choked it back down. D'Artagnan chose that moment to let out a moan and Aramis elbowed the other two aside to check on him.

He laid a hand alongside his face and checked the heat still radiating back at him. It had diminished a little, but not as much as he would like. Before he could make a decision about what to do next, they each heard the sound of hoofbeats. Porthos pushed himself to his feet and drew the pistol from his belt.

Athos grabbed at his horse's bridle and maneuvered the beast in front of d'Artagnan and Aramis. In the absence of a weapon, a barricade was the next best thing.

"It's Armand," he heard Porthos call over his shoulder. As Athos pulled his horse away again he caught sight of d'Artagnan's horse. He knew it made sense, but it didn't make him feel any better seeing another man riding his friend's horse.

Moments later Armand had dismounted and was lifting Philippe down from his horse, before Henri slid down unassisted. He looked almost apologetically towards the men in front of him. "I hope you don't mind, but it was quicker on two horses."

Porthos nodded at him as Athos busied himself with refilling the waterskin that had been dropped earlier. Armand gathered the bundle of swords he had brought with him and carried them over to Porthos. He looked towards Athos, who had turned his back on them. Porthos gathered the bundle and unwrapped it from the cloak Armand had used to transport it. Armand headed back for his boys and suggested they gather some more firewood.

Marie had already made her way over to Aramis and was kneeling down beside him. She tugged over a satchel, much like the one she had brought the day before. He looked up and smiled at her.

"Welcome back, mademoiselle."

"I am sorry it took me so long to return. It was a difficult delivery." Aramis could see the fatigue on her face and guessed she had not slept since the day before. "But I must say I am relieved your friend is still here."

Athos had moved up behind them and Marie turned to face him. "I see you took my advice," she smiled.

Aramis looked across at him, knowing he was missing something. At the look of distress that flitted across Athos' face, he wondered if she had something to do with his friend's unconventional, but effective pleas the night before. If so, he owed her a further debt of gratitude.

_Constance! How in the world did she get dragged back? He could not see her, but her voice floated through the air, cutting him to the core. He felt the hands pulling at his arms and he tried to fight them off. His sword! He needed his sword. How else could he save her?_

"No! You can't be here!"

Aramis reached for d'Artagnan's arm as he flailed wildly in the air. "Easy, easy there."

He was shocked by how easily he could bat the young man's hand aside. That hand usually held such strength and purpose in its grip.

Marie could see the fever still burned in his skin before she even touched it. "When was the last time you gave him my herb brew?"

Aramis looked to see where the sun was and quickly calculated. "Two hours."

Marie frowned in response. "I dare not give him any more yet."

They both knew the strength of the herbs and had no wish to kill him with an overdose. Aramis agreed with her assessment, but was still concerned that d'Artagnan's temperature was not dropping fast enough and the heat of the day was peaking.

"We need to cool him again."

Having done it several times already since early morning it was a smooth process for the men to lift and carry d'Artagnan into the soothing water. Without discussion, Athos simply moved into place to sit with d'Artagnan leaning back against him. It had ultimately calmed him each time they had done it before. Once again, the initial contact with the water brought a reaction, but as before, as Athos began to speak into his ear, peace soon settled over his features.

Marie watched from the bank as each of the men ministered to the young man they so clearly cared deeply for. As a healer she was a student of human behaviour and knew that having a connection with someone could make the difference in a patient's recovery. She chewed on her lip as she watched their interaction and was only bumped from her thoughts as Armand came to stand beside her.

"I had not expected him to survive the night."

She looked up into his face and noted the sadness. Another senseless victim of the raiders. She nodded and sucked in a breath.

"Neither did I. I rode back from the convent as soon as I could."

Armand knew there were several people who had taken shelter at the convent since the raids, as they had either felt too vulnerable or too isolated. Armand knew the young couple who were awaiting their first child and he looked expectantly to Marie.

She smiled brightly as she recalled she still had not told him. "Claire had a long and difficult time of it because we had a wonderful surprise. She and Luc have not one new babe, but two!"

"Twins?" Armand could barely speak past the lump in his throat. He looked away before turning to smile at her. "A double blessing."

That was exactly what Adalyn had said when Henri and Jules had been born. Henri led his brother into the world by twenty-five minutes and for his short life, Jules had been more than happy to follow him everywhere. Armand closed his eyes as he recalled the sight of his three-year-old son's body wracked by fever. It did not seem to matter how long it had been, the pain never left him.

He finally opened his eyes again to find Marie had her arms wrapped around his waist. He reached across and squeezed her shoulder as he watched the men carry their friend back out of the water.


	10. Chapter 10

I told you already how I hate making up character names and after rewatching some episodes tonight, I think I have subconsciously picked up EVERY single side character used in the show. Argggggh! Oh well, too late now. On the bright side, you are wonderful and I really appreciate your reviews and messages.

**Chapter Ten**

Aramis poked at the fire with a lengthy stick and watched the shower of sparks fly into the air. Generally one of his favourite parts of being on the road was making camp at the end of the day and sitting around a fire with his friends. If there was a rabbit roasting then that was a bonus. Tonight's supper had been just like the previous two nights; salted pork, dried fruits, cheese and very dry biscuits from Armand's supplies. He licked his lips as he thought about succulent roast rabbit instead.

"Must you always play with the fire?" Athos looked at him as though he were scolding a wayward child.

"It's pretty!" Aramis grinned at him.

"Well you ought to know all about pretty!" Porthos smirked at his friend. Of the three of them, it was always Aramis who attracted the most attention.

Athos rolled his eyes at both his friends, but did not miss the fact that Aramis was looking the most relaxed he had in three days. After a second long and arduous day by the pond, it seemed that d'Artagnan's fever had finally responded to Aramis' treatment. Conscious that he was still a long way from well, Aramis sat beside him as he slept peacefully for the first time in what felt like forever. The sun had set over an hour ago and the evening was beginning to finally cool with a light breeze.

Henri sat with Philippe stretched out sleeping against his thigh and he absently played with his little brother's curls. He watched the two men across from him and wondered at their teasing comments. He knew he teased his little brother out of affection, although sometimes Philippe did not respond well. Usually when he was tired. He looked up to see his father looking strangely at them both.

Armand had slept fitfully though the night as he dreamed of his boys. All of his boys. Marie had returned to the young mother who needed her care, satisfied that d'Artagnan was in good hands. Her news of the twins had awoken memories that Armand had tried so hard to bury. Henri and Jules had certainly kept him and Adalyn on their toes as the twin terrors found mischief in everything, as soon as they learned to walk. The winter that took one of his sons from them was the cruelest time he had endured. Until recently when the raiders had taken his wife from him as well. His heart thundered in his chest as he felt the raw anguish of it rising again. Watching Philippe sleep only served to remind him just how close he had come to losing the rest of his family. If not for a brave young stranger who had chosen honour over his own safety.

* * *

_She had the kindest eyes he had ever seen. Her smile lit up the room and he treasured every time he had made her laugh. D'Artagnan reached across to touch her face and she shimmered before his eyes. Sparks flew into the air and she seemed to evaporate before his eyes._

Aramis took another poke at the fire and smiled as tiny sparks flew high above them. Suddenly he felt movement beside him and he looked down to see d'Artagnan watching him with a confused expression spreading across his face.

"Welcome back," he smiled warmly, finally seeing lucidity and recognition in his friend's eyes. Over the last few days he had honestly thought d'Artagnan may never look at him with clarity again.

"Ara… mis," the single word took more effort than he could have thought possible. D'Artagnan squinted against the bright light of the fire and he tried to raise a hand to shield his eyes.

"Yes, my friend," he leaned over to block the glare while grasping the wavering hand. Within seconds both Porthos and Athos had dropped to their knees beside him and d'Artagnan found himself overwhelmed by the intensity of their collective faces.

"Wha … " He sucked in a sharp breath as he struggled to speak. His throat felt rubbed raw and his whole body ached. He tried to shift and cried out as an intense pain shot through his torso.

"Easy! Easy there," Aramis gently pushed d'Artagnan back to the ground and kept both hands on his chest to keep him there. He could feel the tremors beneath his hands and watched closely as d'Artagnan struggled to overcome the pain. "Just breathe, easy now. Just breathe."

Athos felt his chest constrict as he watched d'Artagnan slowly rise through the pain. Had he not been through enough already? Finally Aramis seemed to have things back under control and was satisfied that his patient was calming down. Porthos had grabbed for a waterskin and Aramis reached over to take it from him. Athos eased d'Artagnan into a semi-sitting position so he would not choke on the water being offered. A crease of pain crossed his face as he tried to drink. Finally he sagged back against Athos and closed his eyes.

As he tried to calm his scrambled senses he finally noted that he was outside and he could smell a fire burning. He had no recollection of where he was or what had happened. He could feel Athos' firm hands holding him close to his chest and heard Aramis' calming tone, although his mind was not registering the words. He forced his thoughts to focus on remembering where he was and suddenly a horrifying memory surfaced. A small child was about to be shot in the back and he recalled leaping towards him. The crack of a pistol sounded in his ears and he startled.

Athos felt the jolt and just reinforced his hold on the boy. He could feel the pounding of d'Artagnan's heart underneath his hands.

"Two … boys!" The fear in the words was clear to all of them.

"They are both safe, thanks to you," Aramis smiled at him. "In fact, they are just over there." He pointed to his left and smiled again as d'Artagnan turned awkwardly to see for himself.

"You, on the other hand, gave us a real scare!" The rebuke came out harsher than he had intended, but it was still too close a call for him to ignore.

D'Artagnan saw Aramis's face flicker into a frown, before he plastered on a smile again.

"But we always knew you were stubborn!"

"How … are you …all … here?" Last he recalled he had been alone in a meadow with no backup besides two young brothers. He remembered wishing for his own brothers to come while knowing they were nowhere near him, with no idea that he was even in trouble. He had fully expected to never see them again.

"The King sent us," Porthos grinned at the confused look he got back.

D'Artagnan felt himself slipping back into the fog he had just climbed out of. His last conscious thought was to wonder why the King would be sending his Musketeers to find him.

* * *

Warm sunlight filtered through a small window and he could smell the scent of something cooking. He wrinkled his nose as he tried to focus on what it was. Eggs. It was definitely eggs. He heard a giggle nearby and tried to open his eyes. It took a moment to remember where he was. His eyes took in the rough-hewn timber overhead. The cracked plastered walls with faded whitewash. The pallet he was lying on that was stuffed with straw and wool and a blanket that was draped over his body. He ran a hand down his leg and was relieved to find that somewhere along the line, Aramis had seen fit to restore his dignity along with his breeches.

He tentatively explored the bandage around his waist and pulled back before touching too close to where it hurt most. He sucked in a sharp breath as the memory slammed into him again.

Armand watched from the kitchen doorway as his guest finally woke again. He had been awoken several times during the night, each time the young man had cried out in his sleep.

"Just in time for breakfast," he smiled as he walked into the room.

D'Artagnan blinked in confusion as he tried to recall the man's name. Armand! Just like the Cardinal, he remembered. But nothing at all like the Cardinal.

As his mind slowly came into focus, he noted something was wrong. Every time he had woken in the last two days, one or more of his friends was within arm's reach. After first waking up by the fire, he had slept fitfully through a long night where Athos or Porthos or Aramis was right beside him each time he awoke in pain. Aramis had given him something bitter to drink and the dreams had subsided.

Finally, some time the next day, Aramis had declared he would be able to travel and Armand had gone to borrow a wagon from a neighbour. D'Artagnan had little memory of the trip, as unbeknownst to him, Aramis had waited until his bitter potion had done its job and d'Artagnan had mercifully slept through the whole thing.

He searched the room for any sign of his friends and began to feel panicked when he could see no sign of them. Armand had begun to cross the room towards him when he heard it. Aramis' laugh floated through from outside the window and he heard a child giggle with excitement. The sheer relief had him melting back into the pallet and he closed his eyes in embarrassment. He felt a hand on his shoulder and jolted his eyes open again.

"He has barely left your side in days. He only just went out to wash up."

D'Artagnan struggled for something to say in response, but nothing came to mind that didn't sound petulant and childish. Before he could open his mouth he saw movement at the door and looked over to see Aramis strolling in with Philippe hanging onto his back, scrawny arms clinging to his neck and wearing his hat. Well, not so much wearing it as being consumed by it.

"Has anyone seen Philippe anywhere? I can't find him!" Aramis made a show of searching the room while all the while the boy giggled and slapped at his shoulder.

"I wonder if he got eaten by a wolf? Do you have wolves in these parts?" Aramis stopped in front of Armand.

Armand just shook his head while trying to keep a straight face.

Finally Aramis made a grab at the hand on his shoulder and deftly swung the boy around into his arms. The hat rolled off onto the floor.

"There you are! I thought you were lost in the woods."

Philippe giggled at the funny man who had carried him around most of the morning. He suddenly noticed d'Artagnan was awake and he pointed excitedly. His father watched him with a mixture of sadness and joy. It was wonderful to hear his son laugh again, but his heart ached to hear him speak.

Aramis lowered Philippe to the floor and knelt down beside his friend.

"It's about time you woke up, young man!" The sternness in his face was totally negated by the brilliant smile on his face. "Philippe and I raided the henhouse hours ago and Henri has been hard at work making you the very best omelette in all of France."

D'Artagnan smiled at him before realising the others were still nowhere to be seen. "Where's Athos? And Porthos?" His eyes flicked past Aramis to see if they were in the kitchen or perhaps still outside.

"Ahh, they've gone to the village. On the King's business." Before d'Artagnan could question him any further, he had pulled Philippe over and pointed to the kitchen. "Breakfast! You have not eaten in days and I know you are starving."

D'Artagnan wasn't so sure his stomach was up to eating anything, but he smiled at his friend's enthusiasm and nodded in agreement.

As if on cue, Henri came through the door, carrying a tray with a bowl of eggs and a crust of sourdough beside it. Aramis helped d'Artagnan into a sitting position and noted the gritted teeth and clenched hands as he did so. Drops of sweat gathered on his forehead and d'Artagnan swiped angrily at them.

"Easy," he whispered as he laid a calming hand on his chest. "It will be a while before you regain your strength."

* * *

Treville leaned against his desk and tried to focus on the paperwork he was supposed to be doing. It was a day's ride to where Armand had said he lived and a day's ride back. He had expected news by now and was concerned that he had heard nothing so far. He knew his men could handle themselves and he trusted them to do their duty. He just could not shake the feeling that hovered over his shoulder and reminded him every so often that he really should have heard something by now.

* * *

Athos dismounted and stood beside his horse for a moment. He leaned into the animal and drew strength from the connection. It had been a long few days and he felt thoroughly spent. He hated what he needed to do next, but he had no choice. As he headed up to the door of the farmhouse, Porthos could see that Athos had made up his mind. Based on the intelligence they had gathered, the raiders had a base somewhere in the hills to the south. It was their duty to follow the King's orders and deal with them. They had lost far too much time already and needed to move, or risk the raiders moving their base again.

Porthos followed behind and was glad it was not his job to explain this plan to Aramis.


	11. Chapter 11

Thank you once again for your kind comments and reviews. The more I write about this story, the more I find I am enjoying the show. And of course I have discovered some wonderful Musketeer stories on this site.

**Chapter Eleven**

Aramis paced across the small yard, his head waging war with his heart. He knew Athos was right. He also knew that Athos was fighting the very same war within himself. He was just better at hiding it. Where Aramis wore his heart on his sleeve, Athos often made a good pretense of not having one. Those closest to him knew what a lie that was, but for various good reasons, Athos had chosen to protect himself and carefully shielded his heart. It was a measure of how much the man cared about their young friend that his facade had cracked so badly over the last few days.

Porthos leaned against the wall, arms folded and watched his friend pace. He had already had the benefit of the ride back from the village to argue the same questions, but Aramis had the added weight of knowing all the medical possibilities as well.

"We almost … we were nearly ... " The words caught in his throat as he choked back the memory of his first sight of d'Artagnan, only a few days earlier. Porthos knew exactly what he was trying to say and nodded.

Aramis finally stood still and stared at his friend. How many times had they all been expected to place duty over their own needs or wants? It came with the territory of being one of the King's men, but that didn't always make it any easier to do.

* * *

Athos sat straddled over a chair turned backwards and watched as d'Artagnan tried to regain his composure. He felt like he had a knife twisting in his own chest as he knew he was the cause of the young man's turmoil. There had been times when he had had to leave an injured man behind before, but none of them had ever felt quite like this. It had been nearly a week since they rode out of the garrison and the King was expecting results.

"When will you go?" To his credit, d'Artagnan managed to look him in the eye while asking.

"This afternoon. We can't risk them moving camp again. We've found a local who tracked them recently and he has offered to show us." He took a moment to allow that to sink in and noted that d'Artagnan was struggling to stay sitting upright. His face was ashen and he obviously needed to lie down.

"I'm leaving Aramis here."

D'Artagnan felt a surge of relief, quickly followed by a flash of guilt. Athos and Porthos would need all the help they could get and he didn't need a nursemaid. The fact he could not even stand up without assistance was irrelevant. He began to object when Athos cut him off.

"Those three men you killed will have been missed. Who knows if anyone will come looking for them? We buried the bodies, but somebody could have seen them coming this way." He didn't mention that it was a secondary reason, just as he had used the same argument with Aramis himself. He would barely admit it to himself, but he had come too close to losing another brother and would not leave him in the state he was in without Aramis to tend to him.

D'Artagnan felt his stomach clench as he had not even considered that point. He could well have placed Armand's family in further danger and he was of no current use in helping to defend them. As much as he wanted to tell Aramis to go too, he felt relieved that the man would be staying. His see-sawing emotions showed in his eyes and he looked away in shame. He had never felt so utterly helpless in his life. Except perhaps for the night his father died. The painful memory surfaced again and he tried to push it under.

Athos mistook the look of pain that flitted across d'Artagnan's face and stretched out a hand towards him. "Do I need to fetch Aramis? Are you in pain?"

"No!" The response was harsher than intended and d'Artagnan looked up to apologise. "I'm sorry, but no. I'm fine."

He twisted the blanket in his hands and struggled to explain. Conflicting emotions competed for his attention. He looked intently at his hands and tried to find the words. Before he knew it, Athos had clamped a firm hand on his shoulder.

"None of us likes this. I have sent word to Treville with one of the traveling merchants. He will send men and once we know the whereabouts of their camp we will decide what to do. In the meantime, you need to rest. I need you back on your feet." The concern in his tone was clear and d'Artagnan simply nodded at him. Athos needed him to be fighting fit, not lying in a bed feeling sorry for himself.

By the time Alain arrived to collect his two friends, d'Artagnan had almost made peace with the idea. As a musketeer, he knew Athos was right. People were dead, simply for being in the wrong place at the wrong time. He knew the agony of that first hand and would not wish anybody else to experience it. If Athos and Porthos could put a stop to the raiders, then being left behind was worth it. He lay back on the pallet and stared at the roof, determined to keep himself together. He would not add to Athos' worries as he left.

* * *

Aramis had already made a thorough check of the tiny farmhouse and surrounds, but for some reason he felt compelled to do it again. It was nearing sundown and he felt the need to secure the place before he headed in for supper. He had sent his friends off with a promise to protect those left in his care. They, in turn, had promised to return safely. None of them had actually spoken any such thing, but they all knew anyway. Some things simply did not need words to be understood.

After checking and changing d'Artagnan's dressings he had left him to sleep for a while. The fever had almost subsided, but he knew it would be a long haul back. He smiled to himself as he knew how frustrating it was going to be for the normally vital young man. It was going to take some serious efforts from all of them to keep him down, long enough for him to fully heal. He raised a glance to the sky as he pulled his rosary out and kissed it. He sent a silent prayer of thanks that they would actually get the chance to do so.

It hadn't taken long for Aramis to scout out the best defense points along with obvious weaknesses. As a soldier it was second nature to be on the defensive, especially with others to protect. He had deliberately pretended not to notice that Philippe had been trailing along behind him for the last ten minutes or so. The child was rather good at hiding. Unfortunately for him, Aramis was a rather good scout. Of course, the fact that Philippe was back to wearing Aramis' hat did nothing to conceal his presence and Aramis had to stifle a laugh. Finally he turned and headed back towards the barn. He waited around the side of the wall and when he saw the shadow of his hat coming around the corner he swooped on his prey.

Philippe screamed before collapsing into a fit of giggles as Aramis hoisted him over his shoulder. Armand bolted out the door at the sound of his son's scream and skidded to a halt as he saw Aramis striding towards him with Philippe sitting atop his shoulders. It took a moment to rein in the fear and when Aramis saw his face, he stopped in his tracks.

"I'm sorry …. I didn't think that … I am truly sorry." Arrmand nodded and looked away for a moment. When he looked back he had a smile on his face and was looking towards his son. As if sensing his father's need, Philippe reached out for him and Armand pulled him into his arms. Aramis felt a wave of shame wash over him at the distress he had unintentionally caused. Before he could say anything further they both heard Henri shouting from inside.

Both men rushed for the door and followed the shouting to where d'Artagnan was supposed to be sleeping. Aramis shoved his way through when he saw his friend lying on the floor, trying desperately to breathe through a wave of pain.

"Henri, what happened?" He was already running a hand over his friend to check on his injuries and was dismayed to see blood seeping from his bandage again. D'Artagnan groaned as he tried to sit up.

"Lay still! Just what did you think you were doing?" Aramis shook his head as he wondered how they were possibly going to manage weeks of recuperation if they couldn't manage a few days.

"I heard Philippe and … " The rest of the answer was cut short as he grit his teeth against another wave of pain. The room was spinning wildly and he closed his eyes to try to steady himself. Aramis stared at him as he realised d'Artagnan had responded without thinking of himself. He was in no condition to be out of bed, let alone taking on a perceived threat to a child.

"Stupid! So stupid," he muttered to himself.

"'m sorry," d'Artagnan managed to get out between strained breaths.

"Not you! Me! I'm so sorry."

D'Artagnan looked at him, clearly confused as to why Aramis was apologising. He wasn't the one who fell out of bed!

It took some concerted effort between Aramis and Armand before they had d'Artagnan settled back on the pallet and Aramis was dismayed to see how much pain he was in. By the time he had removed the bloodied bandage, checked the wound and redressed it, d'Artagnan looked like he was ready to pass out. Aramis wanted to kick himself for his stupidity.

Having finished what needed to be done he slid down against the nearest wall and pulled his knees up to his chest. He rested his arms across his knees and watched as d'Artagnan finally lost the battle to keep his eyes open. He had no idea of how long he sat there before Armand came back into the room, carrying a tray of food. Henri and Philippe were right behind him and Aramis noted the look of concern on Henri's face.

"He's just sleeping."

"Is he going to be all right?"

Aramis chewed on his lip as he watched the boy. He clearly had the instincts of a healer.

"He's too stubborn not to be," he grinned. "Unfortunately he's also too stubborn to do what he's told."

By the time they had finished supper, Philippe was yawning and Armand stood up to carry his youngest to bed. Without being asked, Henri moved to clear away plates and mugs and Aramis soon found himself alone with d'Artagnan. He moved to sit beside him on the pallet and noted the restlessness in his face. It wasn't as distressed as it had been when he was dreaming, but it wasn't peaceful either. They all teased d'Artagnan about how young he looked, but at that moment he looked far younger than he was. Aramis wondered again at how an innocent Gascon farmboy had come to be a King's Musketeer. Not for the first time, he thought about what would have become of the boy if he had not sought out Athos when he first arrived in Paris.

"You'd be dead!" he whispered to himself.

He didn't notice when Henri had slipped back into the room and was startled when he spoke.

"I'm glad he isn't."

Aramis looked up and nodded.

"I'm sorry he got hurt because of us."

Armand came back through the doorway in time to hear his son. He reached over and pulled his son into his arms. "This was not your fault!"

"Absolutely not!" Aramis agreed. "In fact, d'Artagnan has a knack for finding trouble, without any effort at all. He is far too impetuous for his own health."

He smiled at Henri, but something nagged at him. Athos had tried determinedly to get d'Artagnan to take someone with him to Gascony and he had refused. He knew Treville had tried too, to no avail. He knew it ate at Athos that it seemed d'Artagnan had closed them out. He was determined that somehow he was going to get to the bottom of that one and do something to ensure it never happened again.

Armand pulled over a chair and Henri sat down on the floor, leaning against his father's leg.

"Will you tell me about him?"

Aramis didn't answer immediately and Armand tried again. "He is clearly not from around here and yet you refer to him as your brother. He strikes me as very young to be a musketeer, but I know only the best are taken into the regiment. Please, I would like to know about the man who saved my sons."

Aramis nodded and considered his words carefully. It was not his story to tell.

"D'Artagnan is from Gascony. That's where he was returning from when he came across your boys."

"_You should not have been alone, you foolish boy!" _Aramis had lost count of how many times that thought had gone through his head. Without thinking, he reached out and laid a hand on his friend's chest, as if reassuring himself that he was still breathing.

Armand watched the gesture and wondered again at how close each of the men seemed to be. It was clear that none of them were family and yet he had seen them work as a team to pull the boy back from the brink of death. He recalled Athos' desperate response to pretend to be the boy's father and it made him wonder just where his real father was.

"He had been visiting family there?"

Aramis' stomach clenched into a knot. "No. He has no family any more."

"_Except for us." _

Aramis felt d'Artagnan stirring under his hand. He smiled as he met dark eyes looking around in confusion.

"It's all right. You've just been asleep again. Are you hungry? You have hardly eaten all day."

"Thirsty."

Before he could move, Henri had already left to bring water and Aramis simply helped d'Artagnan into a more upright position. He held the cup to his lips and watched closely as he swallowed.

"Easy there, take it easy. Too much and you will be sick."

"Yes, Mother," d'Artagnan tried to smile at his friend as he slumped back against the wall.

Aramis smiled to himself as it was the first hint he had seen of his friend returning. He raised an eyebrow as he tried not to laugh.

"Mother?"

"Well Father Aramis just doesn't work for me." D'Artagnan grinned at him as he had heard enough about how Aramis' father wanted him to join the priesthood. The idea was so funny that he felt a laugh welling up inside him. He managed to clamp it down as he knew it would hurt too much to laugh.

Armand watched the exchange and knew he was missing something pertinent.

"From what I've seen, I think he'd make an excellent father."

"He probably already is," d'Artagnan muttered. He missed the flicker of emotion that crossed Aramis' face before he plastered on a grin.

"You're lucky you're a wounded man, or I may be forced to make you retract that!"

"I thought you said something about food."

"Nag, nag, nag! Now you sound like _my_ mother!"

Armand watched as the two men bickered between themselves. He smiled as he watched the tension of the last few days finally beginning to evaporate.


	12. Chapter 12

Sorry for the delay in getting this next chapter up, but I hurt my hand which made typing very annoying. What was more annoying was having it rattle around in my head instead of getting it down on the page. Anyway, thank you once again for your kind messages and reviews. I hope you enjoy!

**Chapter Twelve**

Athos had lost track of how long he had watched the slow arc of the stars moving overhead. He had given up on the idea of sleep since Porthos seemed to be outdoing himself in the snoring department. Alain lay stretched out across from them and as far as he could tell, the man was asleep too. He wasn't sure how that was possible, but for the moment he was alternating between wanting to strangle Porthos and wishing he had brought a wine flask with him. Either one would have improved his chances of sleep.

Judging by the faintest glow on the horizon, he knew it was only an hour or so until dawn. It would be a simple matter to break camp as they had made no fire to avoid detection. Each of them had only to pack their travel cloaks and saddle their horses. Since travel rations were intended to be eaten cold and took little time to prepare, they would soon be on the road again.

Based on the information they had put together so far, there were as many as twenty raiders, although it was unclear if they generally traveled in one pack or regularly broke into separate packs to cover more ground. Obviously the trio that had attacked d'Artagnan and the boys were moving separately, but it was possible they were simply rejoining the others and had simply stumbled upon the boys. Athos frowned as he knew they would never get answers on that one now.

He looked across at the man sleeping soundly, in spite of Porthos' snoring. It had been a stroke of luck that they had even found him. After seeking information in every tavern and inn they came to, nobody had been able to furnish them with anything useful other than fear-laden stories. Alain was different. He had watched them from a far corner as they entered the tavern and listened as they discreetly asked questions. Finally he had sidled up to Porthos and asked to meet them outside.

He had explained to them both that he was renowned for his skills as a tracker and several villages from further south had banded together to hire him to track the raiders. He hadn't elaborated on what they planned to do with the information, but Athos knew it wasn't unusual for a scout to hire himself out. Since there was no rhyme or reason to their raids it had taken weeks for him to be in the right place at the right time, to get a solid enough lead to track them back to a base camp. Hidden deep in a long, narrow valley, the men had the freedom to come and go relatively easily while avoiding prying eyes. It was rumoured there were caves in the area where stolen goods had been squirreled away. It still irked Athos that it wasn't until some of those goods were removed from a royal wagon that it apparently mattered enough to warrant their attention. Alain had promised to lead them back to the raiders' camp in return for a reward from the King.

Athos ran over their plan in his head, such as it was, and tried to anticipate what could go wrong. It bothered him a little that they were in the hands of a mercenary, but beggars could not be choosers. He found his thoughts kept wandering and he struggled to rein them back in. He trusted Aramis implicitly, but he could not shake the doubt that still gripped his heart. After all, he had left his friend with a heavy weight of responsibility.

* * *

_Great puddles of water lapped at his ankles as his boots sank into soft mud. It felt like it had been raining for weeks and the sky had been moody and grey forever. His father agreed to staying at the inn for the night, but as he looked towards the inn it shimmered in the hazy sleet and disappeared. He turned back to his father and time seemed to slow to a crawl as the man staggered towards him. Crimson rain fell from the sky and he turned his face upward and closed his eyes. In that moment a lightning bolt streaked across the sky and his father disappeared into the brilliance of the flash. D'Artagnan felt his heart rip from his chest and his breath stopped in his throat._

Aramis sensed movement before he was fully awake. He felt d'Artagnan shiver violently under his hand and he quickly jolted into full consciousness. He was lying on his stomach, but he had one arm flung protectively over his friend's chest. He would not admit it, but he was still too uncertain to allow himself to sleep without being in physical contact. Especially as his two guard dogs had gone and left them alone.

As he pushed up off the pallet he realised it was early dawn. Amazingly they had both slept relatively soundly through a whole night. He looked across to where d'Artagnan was still sleeping and noted the display of raw emotion running across his face. He guessed d'Artagnan was dreaming again and he debated waking him. Since they had first met him, the older men had all agreed they could read him fairly easily. That first day, when an angry and grieving young man had demanded justice from Athos at the end of his sword, he had calmly dealt with it with grace and patience because he saw to the heart of the matter. Porthos and Aramis had stood aside and watched him swing wildly at their friend and at one point they had even been joking about him. He cringed as he recalled their thoughtless comments. By the time Constance had stepped in and stopped the suicidal challenge it was clear the young man wore his heart on his sleeve. It was one of the reasons Aramis had bonded with him so quickly.

Aramis also knew it was a measure of his friend's morals that he had ultimately chosen to help them clear Athos' name, in spite of his own pain. He watched d'Artagnan intently as he murmured in his sleep. It reminded him once again how obvious it had become that d'Artagnan had not really been able to fully grieve his father's death. Perhaps they did not know him as well as they had all thought they did. Or he was better at hiding things than they thought he was. As he pondered that thought, Aramis wondered if it had anything to do with d'Artagnan's decision to travel back to Gascony alone. He decided it was just another thing to add to the checklist of things he intended to deal with once d'Artagnan was well enough.

* * *

Treville sat in the courtyard and watched as the day's first rays of light crept across the cobblestones. The sounds of the city waking up could be heard outside the garrison. He heard movement behind him and swiveled to see one of the stable boys leading a horse across for grooming. He nodded to the boy and left him to his job before turning back towards the gate. He knew it was too early to start worrying, but he also knew it had been too many days since his men rode out of that gate. He rubbed a hand through his hair as he tried to ignore the thought that it had been many more days since d'Artagnan had ridden out. It still bothered him that the boy had left alone. He sighed as he remembered the tense discussion and d'Artagnan's stubborn refusal to listen to him. Athos was right. The boy's head was still generally ruled by his heart. He just hoped that Athos was wrong when he said it would get him killed one day, if he didn't grow out of it. Unfortunately, he noted, Athos was rarely wrong.

The Captain stretched out his legs before standing to his feet. He cast one last look at the gate before climbing the stairs to his office. It was over an hour later when he heard an insistent knocking at his door. He strode across to open it and noted it was Deniel. The older musketeer had a stranger standing behind him.

"Captain, this man is a merchant who says he has a message from Athos."

Treville almost pulled the man into his office in his haste to get answers. Deniel followed him in and waited as the man fished a letter out from his jacket pocket.

"'e told me you'd pay me for deliverin' this." The man deliberately withheld the letter while eyeing the Captain suspiciously.

"Of course!" Treville nodded at him as he took the letter out of his hand.

It was clearly Athos' looping scrawl on the outside and Treville walked towards the window to get a clearer look at it. He quickly scanned the contents and deniel noted the frown that crossed his captain's face. Something was obviously wrong. The garrison had already been murmuring at how long the trio had been gone and wondered if they had met trouble. Each of the men was on alert and ready to ride out at a moment's notice, if need be.

Treville folded the letter back up and crossed over to his desk where he pulled out several coins. He handed them to the merchant and nodded in thanks.

"Payment as promised."

The merchant counted out the coins, much to Deniel's disgust and headed for the door.

"Captain?"

The unspoken question hung in the air and Treville paced across to the window again. He watched as the merchant made his way down the stairs and headed out the gate. The same gate he always sent men out from and was never one hundred percent certain they would return through.

Athos had clearly been in a hurry when he wrote his short, to the point letter. Treville would have liked more details, but he had enough to begin making decisions. He turned back to see Deniel waiting on his orders.

"Assemble the men in the courtyard. I will be down shortly."

As Deniel closed the door behind him, Treville sank into his chair. The news of d'Artagnan's injury reminded him once again of his plea for the young man not to travel alone. He slammed a hand on the desk in frustration that he hadn't insisted. He could have prevented the whole mess if he had just put his foot down. He recalled several times where the impetuous young man had made decisions that they all knew would come back to bite him. This one had seemed different somehow. His responses had been measured. Calm. Unwavering. The Captain knew it was pointless to keep arguing. He just couldn't shake the thought that he still should have.

He descended the stairs and saw every last one of his men standing in the courtyard, awaiting his news and orders.

* * *

"Please … don't make me beg," d'Artagnan wished his voice sounded stronger and more convincing.

Aramis sat on the edge of the pallet and tried not to laugh. "Does that look actually work on anybody?"

D'Artagnan glared back at him. He bit back a sarcastic response and waited. Since Aramis was apparently his self-appointed keeper, it wouldn't help his case if he angered him.

Finally Aramis took pity on him and nodded. "On a few conditions. You tell me if you are in any pain. You come back in and rest when I tell you. And finally …"

"And finally, what?"

"Stop looking at me with those pathetic eyes!"

Armand stood in the doorway and snickered. Aramis held a straight face a few seconds longer before breaking into a grin. D'Artagnan frowned at him while simultaneously trying to maneuver himself into a standing position without showing any pain. If Aramis thought he could not manage something so simple, then what chance did he have to escape the confines of the room?

Eventually Aramis leaned over to grasp his elbow. D'Artagnan debated shrugging it off, but as he looked into his friend's face he saw nothing but concern. It took a moment to get his legs underneath him and he swayed slightly on his feet as he stood up. It occurred to him that he hadn't bothered to pull on his boots, but he knew that the effort to do so would be too much. He didn't dare sit back down and give Aramis any reason to ground him. Neither Aramis nor Armand commented as he shuffled across the room towards the door, but Aramis did not release his elbow either.

Without needing to be asked, Armand pulled a blanket from the bed and followed the two of them outside. D'Artagnan blinked as he stepped into the bright morning sunshine and realised he had no idea how many days it had been since he had seen the sun. He paused on the step and Aramis looked at him to check that he was all right. Slowly d'Artagnan began to shuffle his way across to a small bench and sat down awkwardly on it. He felt himself trembling with the effort of a simple, short walk. He squeezed his eyes closed to focus his thoughts and hoped that Aramis would not change his mind. Instead he felt the man sit down beside him. He smiled as he realised he hadn't quite escaped after all.

"You didn't think I was going to leave you out here by yourself, did you?"

D'Artagnan could hear the smile in Aramis' voice and he opened his eyes to see his friend grinning at him.

"Athos gave me very strict instructions concerning you. And he scares me!"

"Me too," d'Artagnan laughed softly.

Armand hovered in the background, still clutching at the blanket in his hand. It was a warm day, but since d'Artagnan was dressed only in breeches, he wasn't sure if he wanted the blanket or not. Finally, Aramis solved his dilemma and took it from him.

"Well, if you'll excuse me, I have a list of neglected chores that will keep me going into next week. I need to check on the boys."

D'Artagnan frowned as he knew a farm did not run itself and undone jobs could soon escalate into real problems. The thought of farm chores bit into him and he closed his eyes to blot out unwanted memories of his father chiding him for unfinished chores. He had much preferred sword practice instead.

"Are you in pain?" He felt Aramis' hand on his arm and quickly opened his eyes.

"No!"

"_Don't drag me back inside just yet."_

"Aramis, I keep meaning to ask you something."

Aramis smiled at the deft change of subject. "Anything."

D'Artagnan chewed on his bottom lip, which Aramis had come to know meant he was also chewing over something internally.

"Have you noticed that Philippe doesn't talk?"

The question caught him by surprise as d'Artagnan had barely been conscious around the boy. Then again, he had spent a day with them both, prior to being injured.

Aramis simply nodded at him. It was hard not to notice.

"Why not?"

Having seen many injuries in his time as a musketeer, Aramis thought he had a fair grasp on the reason. He had not asked Armand directly, but rather had put pieces together from the family's story and come to his own conclusion.

"I think … that little boy was witness to something that no child should see. I think that his mind closed up a part of him to … to try to … " Aramis felt d'Artagnan's intense gaze on him and noted the moisture around his eyes.

"That's what I figured." He sucked in a breath before exhaling sharply.

Aramis waited to see what was coming next. Finally he realised that d'Artagnan was too busy trying to hold himself together to speak any further.

* * *

Alain discretely looked across at the two King's men who rode alongside him. It had been a sheer stroke of luck that he had been in the tavern when they came in asking questions about raiders. Ever since his father had thrown him out of his house, Alain had been living by his wits. He had developed his skills over a long time and had learned the hard way to trust no-one. He smothered a smile as he considered that the two men really needed to think the same way. Unfortunately they weren't going to live long enough to learn that lesson.


	13. Chapter 13

Thank you to wonderful readers out there who keep me going on this. Sorry I cannot reply to anonymous reviews, but I appreciate them anyway. I almost made myself cry writing this one!

**Chapter Thirteen**

Deniel glanced over his shoulder at the men behind him. They had been traveling at a fair pace for hours now and conversation had dropped to a bare minimum. Wrapped up in his own thoughts, he considered how each of them had waited expectantly in the courtyard for their captain to fill them in. He knew the minute that Treville began reading that letter that something was very wrong. Eventually the Captain had confirmed his fear.

He looked around at the familiar faces of men he had served with in many skirmishes, over many years. Some of them were younger, having seen less conflict, but each of them was a seasoned soldier nonetheless. His mind wandered to what Treville had told them about their newest recruit. Nobody was sure yet how it had happened, but d'Artagnan had been seriously injured and his three friends had been delayed on their mission by ensuring that he lived.

Somehow the lad had managed to find respect amongst the men in a very short time and he tried to recall what it had been like without him around. Deniel had seen the subtle changes in Athos and smiled to himself. In the years he'd known Treville's lieutenant, Deniel had seen a man of honour, courage and conviction, but also somebody who was clearly haunted. Athos had never let anything out and Deniel wondered how much his two brothers knew of his past. He was sure they must have made their way past his reserve for their bond to be so tight. What truly amazed him was how quickly d'Artagnan had been accepted into that circle. It was clear to all of them that Athos had gravitated to the young man and spent many hours drilling him where it could have been delegated to somebody else. Deniel sucked in a sharp breath as he wondered how Athos would have responded if the lad had not survived whatever had befallen him.

The sun was beginning to set over the hilltops and Deniel had already made the decision they would not stop until they reached the small village Treville had sent them to.

* * *

Athos stood in the courtyard of the small inn and held firmly to his horse's bridle. Even for a man who was used to hours in the saddle, it still felt good to get off his horse at the end of a long ride and stretch his legs. He recalled the early days as a musketeer when they had gone on long-range dispatches and he had arrived back at the barracks saddle-sore and aching all over. Hot baths were a luxury for aching and tired muscles and he much preferred the quicker effects of a bottle of wine. Or two.

He heard the sounds and caught a faint whiff of the tavern room at the back of the inn and his stomach began to growl. Athos looked across at Porthos and saw the same look on his friend's face.

"I could eat a horse!"

As if on cue, Porthos' mount stamped his hoof on the ground and Porthos reached over to scratch his neck.

"Not you!" he grinned.

Athos pulled his lips into a small smile. The one his friends knew as his usual restrained response.

Moments later, Alain strode out of the inn door and nodded towards the stables. "We've got a room and lodging for the horses over there. My friend is organising supper for us while we get settled."

He yanked on his horse's lead rein to unwrap it from the hitching post and headed towards the stable. By the time they were done with removing tack and checking weapons, their host was ready with bowls of steaming rabbit stew and thick chunks of bread.

Athos watched as Porthos consumed the bowl in minutes and looked around for more.

"You do know that's rabbit and not horse?"

Alain looked across at Athos' comment and saw a faint smile twitching at the man's lips.

"Course I do! But it takes a lot of rabbits to equate to one 'orse and I need some more of this."

Alain stood up and took the bowl from his hand, before heading for the back room. He quickly returned with another bowl and placed it before Porthos.

"Thanks."

As the big man continued to plough through his meal he suddenly stopped and looked up at Athos. "Don't tell Aramis!"

Athos simply nodded, but Alain looked askance at them both.

"Rabbit is his favourite meal. He hasn't had any for a while." It was a rarer meal within the city confines than other forms of meat and both men knew that Aramis had missed his roast rabbit. Even on hunting parties with the King, rabbit was not considered a prize. Stag or pheasant was more the royal choice.

"Maybe he will find time to go hunting before we get back." Alain smiled at the two men in front of him.

Athos had already ordered a bottle of wine and he poured a glass for each of them. As they finished their meal he raised his glass and smiled.

"Here's to good hunting."

Porthos raised his glass in hearty agreement while Alain simply used his glass to smother a smile.

* * *

D'Artagnan was bored. He had spent hours outside before Aramis had finally insisted he come back inside to rest. The routine of checking his wound and rebandaging it was rapidly becoming tedious. While he felt eternally grateful for all that Aramis had done to save his life, he found himself struggling to rein in his impatience. He was not used to sitting around all day and the tedium was grating on him. What was even more frustrating was his total lack of energy.

Soaking up the sunshine of the day had felt invigorating. Until he tried to stand up and walk inside. His legs refused to co-operate and Aramis was forced to call Henri to help him. The boys had been in the stable, cleaning out the neglected horse stall, when Aramis had come looking for them. Henri rushed to help and as usual, Philippe trailed along behind his big brother.

Aramis had d'Artagnan's arm across his shoulder, mindful of his injury and Henri leaned into his other side for support. Between the two of them, they managed to help him slowly shuffle his way back into the farmhouse.

Philippe watched intently as he followed along after them. He felt his stomach doing flips as he remembered the sensation of the tall man in front of him throwing him to the ground. He flinched as he recalled the loud bang and smelled gunpowder. He had no idea what it was, but the same smell had been there before. He closed his eyes tightly shut and tried to squeeze out the gruesome image welling up in his mind. There had been so much blood.

By the time Armand returned with buckets of water from the well, he was surprised to see his youngest standing, as if frozen, in the doorway. He dropped both buckets and rushed to his son's side. Philippe startled as his father appeared and Armand mentally kicked himself for his haste. He gently turned his son towards him and noted the faraway look he had seen too many times on his face. He knew the cause of it, but had struggled to find any way to wipe it away. He gathered Philippe into his arms before standing up and carrying him inside. The child's heart was pounding in his chest and Armand could feel it against his own chest.

Somehow he managed to pull in the growl of frustration that threatened to escape, knowing it would not serve to help his son. Instead he paced the small kitchen, whispering over the top of his head, until he finally felt Philippe relax a little. He had no idea what had triggered the terror and felt completely helpless to fight it.

He was unaware of Aramis and Henri approaching until his eldest son called his name several times. He blinked and looked over to see Henri watching him with alarm. He too had seen his little brother go off into a trance-like state many times and felt equally helpless.

Armand continued to pace and rock his son, bringing comfort the only way he knew how. Finally he realised that Philippe had drifted off in his arms. He looked around in frustration, knowing that he still had things that needed doing, but not being willing to let go of his son just yet. Finally Aramis came to his rescue.

"Perhaps you could do me a favour and sit with d'Artagnan for a while? He needs to rest, but is still restless. I'm afraid he won't stay put." Aramis hoped he could kill two birds with one stone by forcing his patient to rest, while giving Armand some much-needed time with his son.

Armand nodded in gratitude and headed for the doorway.

"We can take care of supper, can't we?" Aramis smiled at Henri, attempting to allay some of the tension in the room.

"Of course." The boy was still watching his brother intently, but he managed to muster up a smile for his father.

By the time Armand stepped into the room, d'Artagnan was almost asleep. He jolted awake as he heard footsteps and Armand could see why Aramis still felt he needed watching. His face was flushed, showing the effect his recent exertion had taken on his body. For a fit, young man it should have been nothing. Instead, it had taken every ounce of energy he had.

Armand pushed a chair over with his foot and settled himself down, with Philippe still wrapped in his arms. D'Artagnan tried to push himself up on one elbow and eyed him with concern.

"Is he all right?"

Armand found the answer stuck in his throat. _"Yes. No. I have no idea!"_

"He was frightened. He'll be fine if I sit with him for a while."

"Frightened of what? Is there somebody here?"

Armand heard the soldier in him going on alert and rushed to reassure him. "No, no. Nothing like that. Philippe … he sometimes … since his mother died he has been … fearful."

D'Artagnan saw tears pricking at the man's eyes and he slowly lowered himself back onto the pallet. His head was swaying, but he forced himself to pay attention.

"Raiders?"

He had guessed as much from what Henri had told him, that long-ago day at the pond, but nobody had confirmed it so far.

Armand swallowed a gulp and nodded. "I was in the village with Henri."

Guilt flooded his face as he thought of the day his wife had been taken from him.

"By the time we came home, it was too late. Those murderous cowards killed my wife, simply to steal a horse!" The venom in his voice was almost palpable. He clutched at his son a little tighter.

"I could not find Philippe and … I thought … I thought we had lost him too. Finally Henri discovered him, hiding in the barn. I don't know how much he saw … but he has not spoken since."

D'Artagnan felt his stomach clench into a knot at the thought of what an innocent child had been subjected to. No wonder he had frozen in terror when the men attacked at the pond. It was happening all over again.

Philippe gradually awoke in his father's arms and felt instantly safe, until he heard his father's words. As he listened to the conversation he wanted to block his ears and hide from it. That day loomed in his mind and he squeezed his eyes shut and kept his face buried in his father's chest.

"I cannot imagine." D'Artagnan closed his eyes as a long-buried memory of his own bubbled to the surface. His own mother had passed away in her sleep, but both he and his father had been there by her bedside for days before.

"Are you all right?"

Armand's question rolled out of the darkness and he refused to answer it. To say yes was to admit he had let her go. To say no, meant he had to acknowledge the pain that was stealing his breath.

"Do you need Aramis? Are you in pain?"

The questions were getting more urgent and d'Artagnan finally reluctantly opened his eyes.

"I am fine. It's just that … I know how it feels."

Armand waited to see if there was anything further coming. Aramis had already told him that d'Artagnan had no family and he hated the thought he was causing more pain.

Armand frowned as he saw pain ripple across the young man's face. "You've lost family too."

Philippe pricked up his ears at his father's comment. He had been fascinated with the young stranger who had appeared at their pond and been able to magically swim like a fish. When he told them he was a musketeer, his eyes had nearly fallen out of his head. Until that moment, Henri was the closest thing he had ever seen to a musketeer and his brother talked incessantly about becoming one, when he was older. He opened his eyes and watched from under his father's arm as d'Artagnan began to talk again.

"My mother passed away with the fever one winter. It was the worst winter for many years and I heard that it took masses of people. But she was the only one that I cared about."

Armand sucked in a breath. "The winter of '21?"

D'Artagnan stared back at him and slowly nodded. The memory was choking his ability to speak.

"It was a tough winter for many. We lost Jules the same year." Armand unconsciously pulled his son a little closer. "Henri's twin brother."

D'Artagnan felt tears welling in his eyes as he heard a father's anguish. His own father had never been the same after losing his wife and yet this man had lost both a child and a wife.

He wasn't sure if it was an attempt to redirect the conversation or simple curiosity, but Armand's next question knocked the very breath out of him.

"When you were so ill you were calling for your father. Your friends told me you had no family left. May I ask how you lost your father?"

No sooner were the words out of his mouth than Armand felt he had overstepped the mark. The stricken look that passed across the young man's face made him regret speaking.

"It was my fault." The words were hollow and barely above a whisper. "If I had not asked to stop at the inn, he would still be alive."

Philippe closed his eyes and tried to push the thoughts out of his head that threatened to consume him. It was his fault his mother had died. He had been hiding from her, playing a game, when she was outside searching for him. If he had only answered her then … …

Armand felt his son grasp his shirt and realised he was stirring. It was time to pull in their conversation for another time. He looked over to d'Artagnan and saw the fatigue of the day as well as the emotional turmoil had won out. The young man had drifted into a dazed sleep. He slowly stood up, kissed the top of his son's head and headed for the kitchen. He turned one last time in the doorway and felt a tug towards the young man who had saved his boys. Perhaps there was something he could do in return after all.

* * *

By the time Athos and Porthos had finished their meal, it seemed that Alain had struck up a very friendly conversation with one of the barmaids. He sauntered back over to their table and grinned at them.

"Enjoy the room gentlemen. I'll be seeing you in the morning."

Athos gripped his glass a little tighter and had to remind himself he was dealing with a mercenary and not a musketeer. "See that you do."

Alain's grin grew wider as he took in the man's posture. "In this life, you never know when it will be your last day. Enjoy the moment, I say."

Athos did not see the smirk on his face as he turned back towards the barmaid and grasped her arm. He did note the scowl on Porthos' face though.

"I think it would be a good idea to know which room our guide is heading for, in case we need to find him in the morning."

Porthos nodded as the two of them waited for Alain to wander towards the door. They slipped out of their seats and followed at a distance. The man staggered as though tipsy and laughed loudly at the young girl beside him. Moments later he kissed her, slapped her backside and wandered off without her. Athos looked across at Porthos and saw the same questions on his friend's face. They had just been lied to.


	14. Chapter 14

This story just keeps growing in my head as I write it down. It started life as a short little idea and has taken on a life of its own! Thank you to all those who are along for the ride.

**Chapter Fourteen**

Athos paused as he came to the end of the stable. Porthos looked across at him from the other side of the courtyard and signaled the all clear. Alain had clearly indicated he was heading out for a romantic tryst and yet the barmaid he had left the tavern with was nowhere to be seen. Instead, he had headed for the stable.

Athos slunk along the side of the wall, keeping to the deeper shadows. He reached the door and searched to see if there was another way in. He frowned in frustration as there was no other option, but he found that he could see a little through a gap in the rotting timbers. A single lantern, high on the wall cast a faint light into the space. The inner shadows of the barn concealed the other two men's faces, but he could make out Alain pacing back and forth. He appeared agitated as he paced and judging by the hand gestures, the three men were arguing.

Athos pressed an ear to the gap and strained to pick up any words. He could hear the tone and knew for sure that their conversation was not going well. He caught a snippet of comments about musketeers and felt his stomach clench in anger as he knew that Alain had sold them out. The question was, to whom?

He realised that the two men were heading for the door and he pressed back into the shadows while signaling Porthos to get back as well. The two of them froze as two men stalked out of the barn. Porthos held his breath as they came within feet of where he was hiding. He waited until they were well clear before slipping over to where Athos was still hiding. Alain had not left the barn and Athos was keeping a close eye through the gap. He held a finger to his lips before waving Porthos over to the far side of the courtyard.

"He's settled in there for the night, by the look of it. Where did the others go?"

"Back towards the back of the tavern. I lost sight of them after that." Porthos spat on the ground in frustration. "But I did hear some of their plans. We need to get back to our room. Now!"

Athos nodded and began to skirt around the edge of the courtyard again. It took a while to slink back to their room, holding to the shadows and watching to ensure they were not seen. Eventually they slipped inside and closed the door.

"Well?" Athos stood with his hands on his hips, waiting impatiently for information.

Porthos dropped onto the bed and debated lighting a candle. There seemed to be enough moonlight coming through the window and he decided against it.

"It seems our good friend there just sold us out to a higher bidder."

"I thought it would be something like that." Athos scratched at his chin and waited for the rest.

"Well I had planned on some sleep tonight, but apparently we can expect visitors at some point."

Athos raised an eyebrow at him and nodded. "Then we had best be ready for our guests."

He walked across the room and pulled the pillows from the bed and stuffed them under the blanket. Next he checked over his weapons before settling a chair behind the door. Porthos had already checked his own weapons over and he dropped to the floor behind his friend, as there were no more chairs available.

"Any idea what time the party is to commence?"

"No! He neglected to mention that. But he did say that we weren't going to be getting out of this inn alive."

"Hmmm, I do hate it when I am forced to prove somebody wrong."

Porthos grinned in the dark. "I hate that too."

The two of them settled in to wait.

* * *

Alain burrowed into the straw in the stables and tried to make himself comfortable. He would have much preferred the option he had told the two musketeers about and been enjoying the company of a buxom young bar maid. Unfortunately he needed to keep his wits about himself and be ready to move. He smiled into the darkness as he thought about the fate that awaited the two men. Completely clueless; the pair of them. After years of living by his wits he felt he had a fair grasp on the financial possibilities of most scenarios. Of course, things didn't always go to plan, but for the most part, he got by rather well. He reached into his vest and tapped the full coin bag there. He smirked at the delicious irony that some of the coin had come from the very men he had just betrayed.

* * *

Athos nudged Porthos as he heard the creak of timber outside their door. The two of them had been on alert for several hours and tried to juggle staying quiet with not nodding off. Both men pushed up against the wall and waited as the door handle eased open. Grasping his sword tightly in his hand, he watched as two men slipped in through the door and headed for the beds. A faint sliver of moonlight through the window gave enough illumination for him to see a glint of a blade and he felt Porthos tense beside him. The first of the two would-be assassins thrust his blade into the hump on the bed and was startled when he felt it give so easily under his hand. He raised his hand again and thrust it in deep again. He reached down and tugged at the blanket before throwing it to the floor. By the time the truth registered, Athos and Porthos had moved in on either side, holding daggers to the throats of both men.

"Who sent you?" Athos growled from behind the two men.

Neither of them seemed willing to speak and he prodded at the closest one with his dagger. "I asked you a question! Who sent you?"

The second of the two tried to bring his own dagger up swiftly, but Porthos anticipated his move and twisted his arm into his chest. The dagger clattered to the floor and he grunted in pain.

"Answer my friend!" Porthos twisted the man's arm further and he cried out as it hit an unnatural angle.

"Villeneuve!"

Athos leaned into the other man's shoulder. "Who is he? And why does he want us dead?"

Instead of answering, the man elbowed Athos in the ribs and tried to twist out of his reach. He grabbed at his hand and thrust out his dagger at Athos' neck as he pulled back from him. Athos reacted on instinct and slid his own dagger into the man's ribs. As the lifeless body dropped to the floor, Athos stepped back and looked directly at his companion.

"This questioning process would go a lot smoother if you simply answered my questions. You may also yet get to live."

The man in front him snorted with derision. "Musketeers do not let men live when they oppose you!"

"We do not go out of our way to cause deaths either!"

Porthos knew the man was on dangerous ground, by the low tone of Athos' answer.

"Now, for the last time, who is Villeneuve and why does he want us dead?"

Porthos twisted his arm a little higher and the man grunted in pain. "A musketeer murdered his brother!"

"What?" Athos raised his dagger to the man's throat and drew a thin line of blood. "Lie to me and I will slit your throat!"

"I'm not lying!" Even in the faint light, both men could make out the fear on the man's face. "A week ago, Villeneuve's younger brother left with two others on an unauthorised raid. He was trying to impress his older brother, but he broke ranks."

Athos tasted the bile rising in his throat at the mention of ranks. There was nothing honorable about men who stole from innocent people.

"And none of them came back."

Athos felt his stomach twist as he began to put the pieces together. "So why do you say a musketeer murdered him? Anything could have happened to them."

He pushed the point of the dagger a little further and the man tried to pull away from his grasp.

"Alain! He found out! He was sent by Villeneuve to find his brother. He has a knack for tracking and finding things and he has a network of contacts. He heard about a herbwoman in a village inn, talking about a musketeer who killed three men. The village seemed to be pretty impressed with him, as the three of them had supposedly raided a farm to the west of the village, the day before. So Alain kept digging and finally found Villeneuve's brother was one of them, based on their description from someone else."

Athos frowned at the man, but did not pull back on his weapon. "Still doesn't explain why he wants _us _dead."

"I thought musketeers understood battle strategy."

"What are you talking about?"

"Alain also found out there were three more musketeers who had arrived."

"And?"

The man smirked at him, figuring his life was already forfeit anyway.

"Divide and conquer."

Athos felt a cold hand grip his heart as the words came out of the man's mouth.

"Porthos."

"Yes."

"Go and get Alain. We have some urgent matters to discuss." Porthos recognised his friend's calm demeanor masked a serious threat. He stepped over the body on the floor and hurried for the door.

Athos shoved the other man towards the floor before reaching over to the dresser for a candle. "Don't move!" he growled as he stepped into the hallway to light the candle from a sconce. When he walked back through the door he got his first real look at the two men who had been sent to kill them. The one kneeling on the floor was transfixed by the sight of a pool of blood around his friend's body.

* * *

Porthos strode across the courtyard, his fury burning in his eyes. His fists were clenched and he felt his teeth drilling into his lip as his anger sought release. He pulled his pistol from his waistband before yanking open the stable door. He heard movement in the stalls as horses startled at his sudden entry. He only had one objective though as he headed for the man curled up in the straw. Alain had his cloak drawn around his body and Porthos grasped it and shook him violently.

"Wake up!" he roared in the man's face.

Alain blinked wildly for a few seconds before understanding dawned. If Porthos was standing over him, alive and well, then something had gone wrong. His slippery mind switched into overdrive to find a way out of the situation. Before he could come up with anything usable, Porthos had hauled him to his feet and begun searching him for weapons. Satisfied that he had them all, Porthos shoved him through the door and started marching him across the courtyard.

It only took a few minutes for Porthos to drag him into their room and deposit the unfortunate guide on the floor at Athos' feet. Alain wasn't surprised to see a body lying on the floor. What did surprise him was that one of the two men was still alive. He scowled as that meant he had less flexibility with what he had to say.

"Kneel!" The growl behind the command drew the hairs on the back of his neck and Alain wisely chose not to argue. His father had always told him that his lies would one day catch up with him. He had laughed at the old man as he left his house for the last time. Maybe today was the day he would be proven right.

He looked across at the body lying on the floor. A clear puncture wound in the man's chest showed his cause of death. At least it was probably quick. Unlike how his own death appeared to be panning out.

Athos pulled his sword from its scabbard and held the tip against Alain's chest. The look on his face was unreadable. He stared at the two men on the floor in front of him.

"You will tell me everything you know. No lies. Nothing left out. If you satisfy what I want to know, I may let you live."

"No guarantees from me!" Porthos muttered from behind them.

Alain licked his lips, still scrambling to find the best angle for himself. The man beside him sighed.

"Don't bother. He knows about Villeneuve."

Alain felt all chance of regaining control slipping away. As he looked up into the face of the musketeer in front of him, he knew that he was on very limited time. His only option was to start talking. And if he was going to talk, then he may as well go the distance and hope to buy some favour in the process.

"Villeneuve got too big for his boots. He attracted men who were on the fringes. Men who had been broken in one way or another. They had nothing to lose. He gave them a purpose and a family, in a strange idea of the word. He gave them a sense that they were entitled to take what others had withheld from them. While ever it was limited to theft, nobody was able to do much. But then they graduated to bigger things. He got greedy. Murder became justifiable. He thought he was above the law. And then finally he was stupid enough to think he could steal from the King and nobody would stop him!"

Athos stared at the man, sniveling before him on the floor, clearly ready to sell out anybody for anything. "So how do you fit in with all this?"

"I deal in information."

"Information? Then inform me of something." Athos pointed a finger at the man beside him. "What does he mean when he says Villeneuve wants to divide and conquer?"

Alain looked across at the man beside him and barely managed to restrain a growl. It was clear that he had already spilled what he knew. Lying to the furious musketeer in front of him was now nothing short of suicidal.

"Well … I may have exaggerated when I said to you before there were twenty or so raiders working together. It's actually more like nine. But I knew a larger sounding group would get you out on a reconnaissance rather than a straight up attack."

"And?" The ice cool tone of Athos' voice did nothing to calm his concern.

"Well your friend somehow killed three of his men. One of them was Villeneuve's younger brother. It's pretty simple really. He wants revenge."

Athos was already fairly sure where this was heading, but he needed confirmation. He glared at the mercenary coward in front of him.

Alain sucked in a breath and rushed out the rest. " He wouldn't take on all of you with so few of them. He hired me to separate you from your friend and keep you busy while he got his pound of flesh. And then these two idiots were supposed to finish you in your sleep."

Athos felt his blood run cold. The King had sent him out to find answers and all those responsible for stealing from him. He had also left d'Artagnan and Aramis, believing them to be safer where they were.

He had apparently failed on both fronts.

Athos gripped his sword tighter and forced himself to stay his hand. "Porthos, wake the innkeeper. We need to leave and these two need to be secured for the King's justice."


	15. Chapter 15

Well there are apparently advantages to being sick and staying home from work. Given that I am now apparently responsible for the safety of people's fingernails and whether or not they can stay safely seated, I thought I had better get to work on this chapter rather quickly. You can, however, blame Tidia for any further threat to d'Artagnan's wellbeing. Not … my … fault! Thank you for making me laugh :-)

**Chapter Fifteen**

Athos felt his chest burning under his jacket. As he and Porthos raced through the darkness he could not stop the desperate thoughts that kept slamming into him, making his heart pound wildly. How could he have made such a stupid mistake as to trust Alain? But then he hadn't really trusted him as such. More like used the man's willingness to sell his skills to meet their needs. As his mind argued semantics, his heart wasn't interested. If his friends died because of his stupidity he would never forgive himself. Plain and simple. Somehow he needed his horse to cover an interminable distance in far too short a time.

* * *

The multiple horses mingled together in the courtyard as their riders awaited instructions. Deniel and Blanchett had left them outside while they went in search of news. A troop of musketeers often caused a stir when they arrived unannounced and Deniel had no wish to cause any alarm or disturbance. He just wanted information and directions.

It was usually the case at most taverns that the barkeep was the most knowledgeable person to speak with. Deniel was grateful to know that in this case, that was definitely true. The man positively fell over himself trying to be helpful. Most of the residents of the tavern had turned to watch as two musketeers strode through the door and everybody was interested to hear the conversation. They were fed up with living in fear and were eager to hear what the King's men were going to do about it.

"So this young lady lives around here, in the village?"

"Yes, yes. Just a few streets that way." The barkeep gestured towards the far wall of the tavern. "I will send one of my girls to show you." He pulled at the arm of the nearest barmaid and she nodded in agreement.

Deniel knew it was not far from midnight and had no wish to disturb the woman, but also did not want any further delays. "Very well, thank you. I will send my men in for some refreshment as we have not stopped since leaving Paris." He started towards the door with Blanchett. "You and I will go and meet this herbwoman."

Once outside, he quickly explained the situation to the men and they happily dismounted and tended to their horses. A hot meal and a wine was incentive enough to finish the job quickly. Deniel gave his horse over to another and began to follow the barmaid who was heading off on foot towards the young woman's home.

Just as the barkeep has said, the house was only a few streets away and they soon arrived. The barmaid rapped loudly at the door. It took a few minutes before a young woman appeared, trying to rub the sleepiness from her eyes while simultaneously holding to the wrap she had around her shoulders.

Deniel removed his hat and nodded towards her. "We are sorry to wake you, mademoiselle, but we are informed that you have been tending to a friend of ours."

"It is all right, monsieur. I am used to being woken during the night, when there is need. " Her smile was captivating and Deniel briefly considered how comforting it would be to wake up to her face instead of Aramis' or a local physician. He pushed the trifling thought aside and waited for her to continue.

She noted the musketeer uniforms and quickly guessed who they were looking for. "Your friend, d'Artagnan is recuperating at the home of Armand Dubois."

"So he lives?" The deep concern in Deniel's voice made her smile broadly.

"Yes, he lives. He has some very determined friends who would not let him do otherwise."

Deniel and Blanchett both grinned at that comment. Determined was one way to describe the trio! Downright pigheaded would be another.

"Could we trouble you further to give us directions?"

Marie shook her head. Before Deniel could comment, she smiled. "Give me a few moments to dress and I will take you myself. It has been a few days since I last had a chance to check on him. Will you excuse me please?"

"Of course. Thank you." Deniel nodded as she closed the door, feeling grateful that they would be guided to their destination, rather than having to find their own way in the dark.

He sent the barmaid back to the tavern with instructions for his men and waited in the street with Blanchett.

* * *

The two of them simultaneously reeled their horses into the inn's courtyard and quickly dismounted. Both animals were lathered in sweat and heaving for breath. Athos tossed the reins to Porthos before hurrying for the doorway. He knew it was well past midnight, but he didn't care as he pounded on the door.

"Open up in the name of the King!"

Both men noted movement at several windows as various travelers pushed aside curtains to see who was making such a ruckus at such an ungodly hour.

Athos pounded on the door again and was just about to shout again when the door inched open. A dark head appeared before him with a lone candle in a holder.

"Please, we don't want any trouble. There are no valuables here."

Athos stepped forward and shoved the door open. He did not have time for pleasantries or dealing with misunderstandings.

"We are not here to rob you! We are musketeers on urgent business and need fresh horses. Now!"

The man behind the door stared in fright at the wild looking man before him. He held the candle a little higher to see that he did, indeed wear the King's insignia and he quickly pointed towards the tiny stable. "Take what you need."

Athos turned and grabbed his horse's reins from Porthos and the two of them raced for the stable. He noted the innkeeper was trailing behind him and he nodded in thanks as the man lit a lantern from his candle. Athos looked around the stable and sighed at the selection. Not that he had expected horses of their usual caliber, but he would have preferred better than what he saw. Porthos reached for a bay gelding and Athos nodded towards a grey. "Those two."

With the ease of many years, the two men quickly stripped the tack from their exhausted horses and passed it to the two fresh ones. Athos allowed himself the barest moment to regret leaving his horse behind, knowing he would not see it again. The need for haste pushed aside his lapse into sentiment and he quickly buckled the girth strap. Porthos finished up by strapping on his musket sheath and the two of them mounted the horses. Neither one seemed comfortable with their unknown riders, but as firm hands took control, the two animals responded accordingly. He nodded to the innkeeper as he urged the horse towards the door.

The man stood and watched as the musketeers spurred the horses into action and the sound of their hoofbeats on cobblestones echoed behind them. In moments they were gone from his hearing and he knew they had reached the road again. He turned back to examine the horses they had left behind and for the first time really took in their condition. Both horses were fine beasts, but they had been driven to the edge of their limits. Musketeers were well known to value their horses and the very fact these two had been ridden so hard, simply showed the urgency of the men's mission.

He patted the nearest one before he reached over to grab a bucket and headed for the well outside. Two of his guests were clearly about to receive an upgrade. So long as he helped the animals now to recover from their ordeal.

* * *

D'Artagnan awoke in the semi darkness of his room, his senses straining on alert. The faint glow from an almost spent candle gave a little illumination, but it also filled the room with shadows. Somebody was outside the room. He heard a muffled noise and at first wondered if it was Aramis needing the chamberpot. He quickly noted that Aramis' hand was draped across his shoulder and that his friend was sound asleep beside him.

Maybe he was imagining things. His dreams had been very vivid and disturbing and maybe he had just simply woken himself from a dream. Deciding that was all it was, he closed his eyes and let his head drop back to the pillow. Moments later he heard it again. A muffled sob in the darkness.

D'Artagnan debated waking Aramis, but knew the man had barely had more than a few hours unbroken sleep. He smiled as he peeled his friend's hand off his shoulder and placed it on the pillow. With every ounce of control he possessed, he forced himself to sit upright without making a sound. The stitches in his side flared as he pulled on them and he had to sit for a moment while his head caught up with the rest of him. Finally the queasy sensation passed and he slowly stood up. Reaching for the candle, he headed out the door and was surprised to see Philippe sitting huddled on the floor in the kitchen. The child whimpered in fright as he saw a figure coming towards him.

D'Artagnan slid to the floor beside him and leaned against the wall. His body was shaking from the effort and he closed his eyes for a moment. He could not recall ever feeling so tired or so weak. Finally he forced open his eyes and noted Philippe watching him intently. Without thinking, he reached out a hand and cupped the boy's chin with his hand.

"Let me guess … you had a bad dream."

The child stared back at him and tears rolled down his cheeks. It was all the confirmation he needed.

"I have them too," he smiled reassuringly.

Philippe's eyes widened in surprise. Musketeers weren't supposed to be scared!

D'Artagnan was pretty sure he knew the contents of the boy's nightmares. "I dream about when my father died."

Philippe edged a little closer and d'Artagnan slowly wrapped an arm around his shoulder. When the boy didn't object he continued carefully.

"I miss him."

Silence stretched between them, but it was not entirely uncomfortable.

"Your papa went to heaven?"

D'Artagnan wasn't sure if he had imagined the small voice that carried out from under his arm.

"Yes, he did."

"And your mama?"

"A long time ago. When I was Henri's age."

He held his breath, waiting to see if Philippe would trust him any further.

"So did mine."

"I know."

Ignoring the strain on his injury, d'Artagnan scooped the child onto his lap and wrapped both arms around him. He could feel Philippe trembling in his arms and felt wetness against his chest. It was enough to break the dam in his own heart and tears spilled down his face. He had no idea how long the two of them sat together, wrapped in conjoined grief. His muscles ached from sitting in such a contrived position, but it was nothing compared to the ache in his chest.

Eventually the tears began to ease and he felt a wave of exhaustion wash over him. He had allowed himself brief moments where he reflected on his father, but they were too painful. It was entirely his fault and nothing would ever really erase the shame. Losing his father's legacy had been the final straw. He thought that going home would have finally laid the ghosts to rest. He was wrong.

He clutched onto the child in front of him and realised his sobs had also subsided. He debated trying to stand up and carrying Philippe back to bed. The problem was he didn't think he had the strength. He sighed as he concluded the both of them were going to spend the remainder of the night on the floor.

"Need some help?"

He startled at the sound of Aramis' voice, but suddenly felt immense relief.

"Ahh, yes. I can't get up."

"I can see that." Aramis crouched down in front of him and gently eased the boy out of his arms. Philippe shifted slightly as he hoisted him upwards, but buried his face into Aramis' shoulder.

"Aramis."

"Mmmm."

"He spoke."

Aramis smiled down at him. "I know."

D'Artagnan watched as his friend slipped away into the darkness. How much else did he know?

He leaned back against the wall and felt every inch of the fatigue that settled over him.

He would never know if it was because he was so on edge and his senses were on alert or just dumb luck, but he heard a faint scraping outside the door. He watched in alarm as the latch to the farmhouse door slowly lifted.

"Aramis!"

* * *

_A/N: yeah, yeah, I know! But you know I'll be back soon. _


	16. Chapter 16

Sorry this took a little longer than expected, but this has been the hardest chapter to wrangle since I started writing this story. I hope you enjoy it, and as always, I'm very grateful for your feedback.

**Chapter Sixteen**

Villeneuve crouched in front of the door and paused for a moment. Alain had sent him to this pathetic little farmhouse, miles from the village. He had no idea why anybody would want to waste their life scraping a meagre living from a patch of dirt that the King could steal at any time from under their feet, without recompense. He felt the anger rising in his chest. What tipped him into full-blown rage was the thought that his brother's murderer was somewhere behind that door. He hated the King's Musketeers almost as much as he hated Louis himself. He pushed on the latch and was about to step forward when he heard a shout. Nobody was supposed to be awake at this hour. Who could possibly have seen them as they had left the horses up the road and slipped in on foot?

He waved the men back into the shadows of the barn and waited to see if they had been exposed.

* * *

Aramis came running at d'Artagnan's frantic shout.

"What?" He knelt down and began checking his friend for pain. D'Artagnan batted his hands away and pointed to the door.

"There's somebody out there!"

Aramis looked at the exhausted face in front of him and smiled. "I know you told Philippe you had nightmares, but … "

"I'm not imaging it! That latch just moved! I saw …" The notion suddenly sounded so much less plausible and his words faded away to an embarrassed silence. He scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. Before Aramis could comment any further, Armand came running into the kitchen. He looked alarmed to see d'Artagnan slumped on the floor with Aramis crouched over him.

"Did you fall? Are you hurt?"

D'Artagnan felt his face flush with warmth. Now he had woken up Armand with his foolishness and the words tumbled out of his sleep-deprived brain.

"No. I just thought it was a good place to sit and think."

Armand frowned at the obvious sarcasm, and d'Artagnan felt his shame rising again.

"I'm sorry. I was actually sitting here with Philippe. He woke me up when I heard him crying."

"Crying?" Armand kicked himself that he had not heard his son's distress, but before he could say anything further, d'Artagnan cut into his thoughts.

"You need to know … Philippe … he started to speak again." He smiled at the father who had been through so much. It felt good to give him a ray of hope.

Armand felt his breath catch in his throat and he clutched at the bench. Finally he walked back over to the young man he already owed so much. His eyes shone with tears and he found he was lost for words.

Aramis finally decided their conversation could be finished in the morning. He gestured to Armand who leaned in to help as Aramis began to lift d'Artagnan to his feet. He hated the fact it took two men to almost carry him back to bed, but his legs were like jelly underneath him.

As they settled him back onto the pallet and Aramis grabbed for the blanket, he noted the exhaustion on his friend's face. D'Artagnan was losing the battle to stay awake as his body ran out of its limited reserves.

"Do you know something? … You never cease to amaze me."

"What?" D'Artagnan's eyes flicked open at the soft-spoken words.

"Go to sleep. We'll talk in the morning."

"Yes, Mother."

Aramis smiled at the affectionate swipe. "You are lucky I am _not_ your mother or I may have to check under the bed for monsters."

When he got no answer, he sat for a while longer, just watching his friend breathe peacefully. Aramis finally decided he wasn't going to get back to sleep any time soon so he wandered out to the kitchen for water.

* * *

Marie stifled a yawn as her horse followed the road she knew so well. The gray mare had traveled most of the roads in the area at one time or another and often at night. People didn't always wait until it was a convenient time to get sick or injured and she was well used to late night call-outs. It was a pleasant enough ride in the moonlight and she smiled at the idea of the musketeer escort riding around and behind her. She had never felt so safe in traveling to see a person who needed her skills.

"Armand's home is not far into the next valley," she pointed ahead. She wasn't sure the man was going to appreciate being woken in the middle of the night, but there was no way she wanted to keep these men from their friends when they had traveled so far already.

* * *

Aramis smiled to himself as he worked. He recalled the numerous times he, along with his friends, had teased d'Artagnan about what he must do to be a good musketeer. As he used the polishing cloth to clean his already pristine musket, his smile grew wider. If he were honest with himself, he was actually the main culprit at the game. But it was such a funny game! And d'Artagnan was such a good target! The smile suddenly slid off his face and he stopped polishing. He tried to rub that thought with its ugly connotation from his mind. Instead he focused on the fine etching around the handle of his musket and tried to pretend he had not thought such a thing.

He looked towards the kitchen window and noted there was still no hint of dawn. For some reason this had been a long night. Finally happy with the high gleam on the musket barrel, he placed it on the table and inspected his firing kit. Everything was already exactly where it should be, but years of practice made him run through it all again. As he had teasingly informed d'Artagnan, respect your weapon and it will respect you! He smiled again as he thought of the lad's eagerness to please. It had been a pleasure to teach him all that he could and he knew the others felt the same way. Of course, he wasn't quite sure of how he would feel the day d'Artagnan beat him on the firing range, but knew that he still had plenty of time to face that one. If it ever was going to happen, he smirked to himself.

He rolled up the kit and placed it back near the musket. Next item to work on was his sword. The blade gleamed at him in the candlelight as he admired the fine craftsmanship. He smiled as he recalled the man who had made it for him. It had cost him every last sous he had at the time, but it had repaid him many times over with his life. It really was a thing of beauty.

* * *

Villeneuve was tired of waiting. He knew that dawn was only a few hours away and he was determined to have his justice by the time the sun came up. He had already decided that a simple death by sword was too quick. In fact, he intended to get the most out his revenge that he possibly could.

He had already watched the man inside for long enough and knew he was their first target. He had a selection of weapons at his disposal and needed to be separated from them, quickly. Based on Alain's information, Villeneuve was fairly sure there were three men and two children inside. It was time to destroy all of them, starting with the musketeer in his sights.

Villeneuve slid into the shadows and waited as one of his men led the farmer's horse out of the barn and down the road a little. It was only minutes later that the man came galloping towards the house, yelling for help.

Aramis bolted up on the stool and grabbed at his pistol before running for the door. He shoved it into the back of his breeches and grasped his sword firmly as he flung the door open. A horse pulled up in the small yard and he noted a rider slumped over in the saddle.

"Help me!" The man barely managed to get the words out as Aramis ran towards him. "Raiders … on the south road."

Even in the moonlight, Aramis could see blood dripping down the man's arm and he reached to help him from the horse. Suddenly the man shifted in the saddle and kicked out at him. Aramis dropped out of range of his boot and twisted sideways. He had his sword raised in defense as he turned back towards the rider.

"Who are you?" he roared in anger.

"He's my best actor." Aramis felt the cold metal of a pistol at the back of his head as the words echoed in his ears. "Now drop that sword."

The words were low and quiet, but the threat was crystal clear. He felt his pistol being slid from his breeches and the muzzle at the back of his head pushed a little harder into his skull. Reluctantly he let the sword drop from his grasp.

Armand had awoken when he heard a rider approaching and bolted from his bed. He ran past the weapons Aramis had laid out on the table and grabbed at the long bladed knife on his way out. He arrived in time to hear somebody threatening Aramis and had a split second to decide whether to wake the others or try to help the man. It seemed there were only two of them and he knew if he could just help the musketeer get re-armed, they could handle two men between them.

Unfortunately at that moment two more men appeared out of the shadows and his heart sank. The man holding the pistol had heard his footsteps. Without letting Aramis out of his trap, he slowly turned his head towards Armand.

"Get out here, now!"

Armand tried to slide the knife into the back of his breeches and hoped it hadn't been seen, but his hope was short-lived.

"Check him for weapons," the apparent leader of the group nodded towards the other man. The one on the horse had slid down and smirked at Aramis as he held up a clearly injury-free arm.

"Now," Villeneuve shoved Aramis towards Armand, "which one of you killed my brother?"

"What are you talking about?" Aramis stood a little taller and glared at the man. If this was some mistake then it could hopefully be resolved without bloodshed.

"My brother and two of my men left camp days ago. It has come back to me through a reliable source that all three are dead. Which one of you killed them? Simple question!"

Aramis swallowed down the bile rising up his throat as he saw any hope of a peaceful resolution slipping away. Athos had left him to protect d'Artagnan and this family and his brain was scrambling for ideas.

"I did." Armand turned to stare at him as Aramis gave a false confession. "They attacked me and I defended myself."

Villeneuve glared at him and waved the pistol towards him. "Then raise your shirt!"

Aramis felt his heart sink as the man's source had obviously told him about d'Artagnan's injuries too. He looked towards Armand and hoped the man would follow his cue. He was relieved to see Armand watching him intently, but still wasn't sure he would know what to do. If it was Porthos or Athos beside him then … he shoved the thought aside and slowly grasped the hem of his shirt. Suddenly he launched himself at the man in front of him, knocking him sideways. As he rolled to the ground, he snatched at his sword and felt the comfortable weight in his hand.

D'Artagnan heard voices outside and jolted awake. It felt like he was rising out of another dream and he shook his head to clear it. A minute or so of silence made him wonder if he had actually heard anything, until he noted that Aramis was not in the room. Suddenly he heard the unmistakable sound of a pistol shot and he knew he was not dreaming.

Adrenaline flooded his body as he pulled himself upright. Pain faded into the distance as his only thought was to find Aramis. Without stopping for boots, he grabbed his sword and knife and ran for the door.

Armand lunged forward, but felt strong arms pulling him back and the sharp blade of a knife against his throat.

Aramis rolled sideways as the pistol aimed at him. He felt something whistle past his side and he pushed himself to his feet, swinging his blade towards his attacker. Villeneuve threw the pistol aside and drew his own sword. He knew the man in front of him was covering for someone, but he was still going to enjoy wiping him into the dirt.

D'Artagnan burst through the front door and was horrified to see Aramis engaged in swordplay with two men while another was taking aim with a pistol. Armand stood helplessly to one side with a fourth man threatening to cut his throat.

Aramis caught sight of d'Artagnan and felt his heart start pounding harder. He was in no condition to fight anyone. With renewed determination, Aramis took another swing at the man to his right and he had a moment of satisfaction as his blade connected and the man faltered. The crack of a pistol going off again quickly reined in his focus and he danced sideways, stumbling in the loose gravel. By the time he regained his feet, he had two men swinging towards him and a third reloading. He figured if he could just draw them away from his friends, they stood a better chance of survival so he began to circle away slowly.

* * *

Henri took his brother's hand and held a hand over his mouth.

"Be quiet!" he whispered to the frightened child. It was clear there were men outside and his father was nowhere to be seen. He had pulled his brother into d'Artagnan's room and panicked as he saw that all three men were gone. He had no idea how many were outside, but he hoped Aramis and his father could handle them.

* * *

Armand could see that Aramis was trying to separate the men by drawing his opponents further away from them. The musketeer was clearly a better swordsman, but three on one had him dodging wildly and expending far more energy than the others. He clearly could not sustain it for very much longer.

D'Artagnan charged towards Armand and he used the momentary distraction to elbow his captor in the ribs. The blade slid across his neck and he felt warm blood trickling down his chest. He ignored the wound for the moment and threw another punch behind him towards the man who was doubled over.

Realising that Armand was free, d'Artagnan turned his attention to where Aramis was being overrun. He chased them across the yard and took a swing at the closest of the three men. With limited strength in his swing, the blade glanced off the man's shoulder and he spun around to face his attacker. D'Artagnan stepped back, hoping to draw one of them away from his friend, evening the odds a little.

Armand pulled back to finish the man off with another punch and was a fraction too slow to see his opponent still held the blade in his hand. He threw himself sideways to avoid the deadly blade and found himself face down with a boot in his back. The sharp point of the blade made itself known in the small of his back and he froze, fury at himself bubbling up into his chest.

Aramis watched in horror as d'Artagnan stumbled away from the group and one of the men went after him. He frantically pushed through the two men on either side of him, wildly swinging his sword back and forth between them. It wasn't his most graceful swordsmanship, but it was effective. He could see d'Artagnan rapidly fading and knew the effort it was taking simply to lift his blade. As he rushed towards his friend, he miscalculated and never saw the pistol aimed at his head. A cracking blow was enough to send him into oblivion and d'Artagnan turned back just in time to see Aramis sprawl into the dirt.

Rage filled him with a burst of energy and he swung wildly at the man nearest to him. Athos would have choked on his wine to see the lack of emotional control in the young man as he tried to push to his fallen friend's side. Aramis had not moved and he was desperate to determine if he was still breathing. It didn't take long for his physical exhaustion to overtake him and d'Artagnan found himself being forced to his knees at the end of a sword.

Villeneuve knew he had found his intended target, simply by seeing the blood seeping through a bandage around the young man's waist. He struggled to hold his fury in check and wanted to run his victim through, right there and then. He barely managed to restrain himself and remind himself he had a better plan for revenge. A much slower one.

* * *

Marie turned her horse down the junction road that led to Armand's farm and was stunned to see a faint glow over the crest of the hill. It was in the wrong place and too early for sunrise.

Suddenly she felt Deniel beside her as he spurred his horse into action. The others rapidly followed as he shouted over his shoulder.

"Fire!"


	17. Chapter 17

Well despite rumours to the contrary, I don't like leaving readers hanging on a cliff. And then I hit 100 reviews which totally made my day! You guys are wonderful :-)

**Chapter Seventeen**

Athos was dead!

Porthos too.

The words punched into his chest with such force that he could no longer breathe. The cruel taunt on the man's face made his blood boil and all he wanted to do was tear his face apart. To make it stop. To quieten the voice of despair that rattled through his head and told him that it was his fault. His friends were dead because of some sick revenge over something _he_ did. And the worst part was, they had been duped into following a liar and traitor, who had been paid to lead them to their deaths.

D'Artagnan had come to understand the world was not a fair place, but this just overwhelmed him. Villeneuve had taken great pleasure in telling him the gory details.

He watched as Aramis' limp body was roughly dragged across the barn floor and tied to a railing. His mind raged at the treatment of his friend. This was no way for a musketeer to die. An honourable death in battle was a fitting end to a fine career. Not this. Not being left to burn to death in a barn, while unconscious and unable to do anything to fight back. His father had taught him a strict code of honour and it grated cruelly that men could spit on the word so callously.

Armand sat slumped beside him, blood still oozing from his collar. He too was bound and he seemed a little dazed. Repeated blows to his face had left him docile enough to handle, but still conscious of what was happening around him.

D'Artagnan struggled against the bonds on his wrists, but there was no give in the ropes at all. Villeneuve's men had clearly done this before. The man himself stood directly in front of d'Artagnan and laughed at his expression. He crouched down to make sure he had the young man's full attention.

"You!" He fairly spat the word out. "You killed my brother. This is what I do to those who cross me and take from me. I took your two brothers and now I'm taking the rest of your little family here. My final pleasure will be destroying those two brats we have outside."

D'Artagnan saw Armand react to that revelation and read his own anguish in the man's eyes. He had failed completely, both as a musketeer and a man.

Villeneuve grabbed hold of the lantern on the wall and deliberately walked through the small barn, setting fire to straw, timber, cloth and anything else that was flammable. D'Artagnan watched with a strange kind of fascination as the flames licked up the wall from the floor and quickly took hold.

"May you all burn in Hell!"

"I guess we'll be seeing you there soon enough!" D'Artagnan threw the last insult he had breath for before slumping back against the ground. He wanted Villeneuve to think he was done.

"You lose, boy!"

Villeneuve's parting shot as he bolted the door behind him, was enough to push d'Artagnan into action. He knew he could not untie the ropes in time, but there was a quicker way to dispense with them.

He pushed to his feet and hopped awkwardly for the railing in front of him. It was well and truly alight and he held his hands over the flames. The sickening smell of singed flesh filled his nostrils and he gagged on the smell. Finally the rope began to give way and he wrenched his hands loose. In the time it had taken him to free himself, the ceiling had caught fire and clumps of burning thatch were falling around him.

He staggered away to a spot that was relatively safe and began to free his ankles. His fingers protested as the skin rubbed raw, but he pushed the pain aside and kept going until the rope fell onto the floor.

Armand was struggling to free himself, in between violent fits of coughing. D'Artagnan crawled to his side and began to untie the knots around his wrists. As soon as he was done, Armand went to work on his ankles while d'Artagnan raced over to where Aramis was bound.

The sound of the fire was increasing as flames roared through the small building. Timbers twisted in the heat and began to pop as moisture within them bubbled out and evaporated. The straw on the floor was being consumed at an alarming rate and acrid smoke filled the air. It was getting harder to see as clouds of smoke competed with the glare of the flames.

D'Artagnan noted that Aramis still had not moved as he skidded to his knees in front of him. He lifted his friend's head towards him and patted urgently at his face.

"Aramis! Wake up!" He shook his shoulders, desperate to get a response. Aramis groaned at the rough handling and d'Artagnan allowed himself a moment of relief. He looked across at Armand, who was staggering towards him.

"We have to get him out of here!" It was clear that Aramis was still not really conscious. Desperation leant speed to his hands as he tried to free his friend from the railing. Finally the rope dropped to the ground and the two of them leaned in to pick up the near deadweight. Aramis was vaguely aware he was being lifted, but found he could do nothing to help. His lungs burned and he coughed wildly on the choking smoke.

As they staggered towards the door, a section of ceiling broke loose and a heavy timber beam crashed to the floor in front of them. Armand pulled back in time to stop them being crushed, but the beam now blocked their escape path. He knew his own barn and knew there was only one door. He stared across the top of Aramis' head and read the same desperate understanding on d'Artagnan's face.

* * *

Athos saw it as they crested the hill. A glow in the distance. It was far too early for dawn and his tired mind was fairly sure it was in the wrong place anyway. He felt a knot of fear take hold in his stomach. Villeneuve had already proven himself to be cruel. It was not unthinkable that he would torch a farmhouse. What was unthinkable was that they were too late.

He spurred his horse forward and prayed the gallant beast would keep its legs long enough to get them there. He could feel it heaving underneath him and knew it was only a matter of time before it keeled over on him. In any other circumstance he would have cared what happened to the horse, but for now he was more concerned about other matters.

Beside him, Porthos gave a kick to his horse's flanks and tried to hold his stomach together. He felt like he was going to be sick as the implication before them sunk in.

* * *

Henri held his brother in his arms and shielded his face from the flames. He had tried sneaking them both out a window, but one of the raiders had caught them and dragged them out into the yard. He had no idea where his father or the two musketeers were until a man came and stood in front of them, a cruel smile plastered across his face. Philippe had shrunk from him in fear and it wasn't until a few moments later that he fully understood why.

"Watch and learn, boys. This is what happens to those who cross me."

He gestured towards the burning barn.

"Your mama refused to give me a horse. She's dead! Now your papa can join her."

Henri recoiled as the implication sunk in. This was the man who had killed his mother! No wonder Philippe had reacted so badly. He felt hot tears streaming down his face and he gulped in air as his body began to shudder. The sounds of the barn burning grew louder and suddenly they all heard a crash of heavy timber.

With all of their attention focused on the barn, none of them heard the sound of riders' approaching. Suddenly Henri looked up to see a swarm of horses and blue leather. His mind reeled as though he was dreaming. He staggered backwards with Philippe and watched in horrified fascination as musketeers leapt from their horses and made short work of rounding up Villeneuve's men. There was an attempt to escape, but he heard the resounding clash of steel on steel and knew the musketeers outnumbered the raiders. It didn't matter though, as he watched the barn burning in front of him.

It took a moment for him to register the voice in his ear was Marie. She gently pulled at his arm, before shaking him.

"Henri! Are you hurt?"

He looked up at her caring eyes and could find no words. Tears streaked his face and he slowly shook his head.

"Where is your papa? And the two musketeers?"

He nodded blankly towards the barn and she gasped in horror. Before she could tell any of the musketeers, it seemed they had already pulled that information from the four men kneeling in the dirt.

Deniel used his sword to pry the wooden lockbar from its place and raised a boot to kick in the burning door. He was horrified to see a wall of fire in front of him and plumes of smoke billowing from the floor and walls.

"Aramis! D'Artagnan!" He shouted frantically into the inferno, not really expecting a response.

He scanned the area, trying to distinguish between burning shapes. He felt a hand clamp on his shoulder and was stunned to see Athos standing beside him. The man had appeared from nowhere.

Athos raised both hands to his mouth and shouted again. "Aramis! D'Artagnan!"

"Over here!" Armand raised his head at the unexpected voices and tried to respond. He had been unable to hold Aramis upright when d'Artagnan's strength gave out and the three of them were piled on the floor together. He had fully expected to meet his wife and son by the end of this night and his heart ached at the thought of leaving his boys alone in the world. Perhaps the musketeers would do something to help them. He had pegged Athos as a man of honour and hoped those under his command would share his sense of duty.

He looked across at the two men lying beside him. Both had succumbed to the smoke and he knew he was not far behind them.

"Help us!" He tried again to flag attention. His eyes were drooping as he saw a blurry figure coming at him through the smoke.

Athos pulled his cloak over his face and strode into the flames. He could only see a short distance in front of him, but he followed the sound of a voice. He stumbled across the debris-strewn floor and tried not to lose his footing. A timber support beam crashed to the ground on his left and he knew they were running out of time. Suddenly he tripped and stumbled on a body lying on the floor in front of him. He felt Porthos grab at his cloak to steady him and he regained his sense of balance. Porthos pushed past him and the big man grabbed at the nearest body. He effortlessly hoisted Aramis across his shoulder and turned back for the entrance. Athos watched in alarm as Aramis never so much as flinched at the rough handling.

Armand saw a man he didn't know reaching towards him, pulling him quickly to his feet. He choked back the coughing fit that threatened to overcome him and he allowed the stranger to drag him through the flames. He turned back in time to see Athos hoist d'Artagnan across his shoulders and they all staggered towards the door together.

Armand felt the relative cool of the night air hit his face and he almost fell to the ground in relief. Deep wracking coughs overwhelmed him as his lungs tried to expel the smoke. He collapsed on the ground and felt hands grasping at his shirt. It took a few minutes to register it was his sons and he began to sob as he realised they were still alive. He had felt sure that Villeneuve was going to send them into the burning barn as well, if he hadn't already finished them off.

He looked up to see Porthos had laid Aramis out on the ground nearby, but he suddenly realised he could not see Athos anywhere. He looked back towards the barn in time to see the roof sagging in on itself. He watched with horror as more men tried to head _into _the barn. He heard frantic shouts and cracking timber giving way. Suddenly Athos staggered into the yard and two other men grabbed at the burden he carried. As they lowered d'Artagnan to the ground he saw Athos crawl over to the young man's side.

Athos pulled at d'Artagnan's shirt and lifted him into his arms. He slapped desperately at his face.

"Wake up! Don't you do this to me again! Wake up!" Tears ran down his face as he tried again to get a response.

D'Artagnan felt water dripping onto his face. He stared blindly into the stormy sky as he held his father's lifeless body and allowed the rain to fall on him. It was as though all of Heaven was grieving with him. He felt a slap on his cheek and wondered who would be slapping him. Suddenly sensation began to return and he felt a wash of pain.

"Wake up!" Something about the urgency and authority in the voice made him snap to attention and he opened his eyes. He was stunned to see Athos floating above him. Athos was dead! Which must mean he was dead.

"Am I dead?" he whispered to the apparition above him.

"Very nearly!" Athos managed to choke out the words and he grasped d'Artagnan a little tighter. "But not today."

D'Artagnan felt confusion wash over him and he sagged back into the arms that held him. He was too tired to think.

Athos looked across to where Porthos had laid Aramis down. His heart reeled as he realised his friend still had not moved. He saw the same concern echoed on Porthos' face and he was relieved to see Marie heading towards them. Aramis had been very impressed by her and that was all he needed to know. The girl may seem young, but she was knowledgeable and skilled.

"We need to move them inside where I can tend to them better." The kindness in her face gave him a small measure of comfort, but he knew he would not fully relax until he was sure they would both recover. Right now, he was not sure of any such thing.


	18. Chapter 18

Well this story continues to run my life and keep me from sleeping. I think I need to finish it. Thank you as always for wonderful feedback and thoughts from readers. It is always very much appreciated.

**Chapter Eighteen**

The morning sun was already well into the sky by the time Aramis awoke. He slowly drifted into the realisation, but could not bring himself to open his eyes. The pounding behind them told him all he needed to know. He had the mother of all hangovers, but could not remember doing any drinking. In fact, his head seemed rather short on memories of any kind. It felt like Porthos had used it for melon target practice and missed.

Without opening his eyes, he knew he was not alone. He would normally have guessed that either Porthos or Athos were sitting nearby, but his nose wrinkled in confusion. Neither of them generally smelled like roses. Finally curiosity won out and he dared to open his eyes. The onslaught of light brought a groan to his lips and he screwed them shut again. A hand rested on his shoulder and he knew it was most definitely not Athos or Porthos.

"Easy there. You have a concussion and the light will cause you problems for a while yet, I'm afraid."

The gentle voice belonged to the faint scent of roses and he smiled, in spite of his pain. He decided it was worth the pain to try again. He tentatively opened his eyes again and tried to focus on the angelic face hovering over him.

Porthos snorted somewhere in the background. "He's half dead, stinks like a sewer, has a hole in his head, and still 'e's tryin' to woo the fair lady!"

"Is it working?"

Marie laughed, in spite of herself. Aramis looked crestfallen as she ignored his question and began to check his pupils for responses.

"How many fingers am I holding up?"

"Wait! How are you here?"

"I came with your friends." Marie noted the sudden confusion on his face.

"No, no! Not you." Aramis fumbled as he tried to voice his thoughts while realising he had just insulted her. "My apologies … but I meant him." He hooked a thumb towards Porthos and tried to look contrite.

"Long story. It can wait until the pretty lady has given you your sponge bath."

Marie ignored the comment and held up her hand again. "How many fingers?"

"Three. And very fine ones too, if I may say so?"

"Well I'm assuming you are feeling better, but I want you to follow my finger with your eyes, without turning your head."

Aramis managed to do as requested, but the pounding inside his skull amped up a notch and she noted the soft hiss of pain. His eyes involuntarily squeezed closed and she laid a calming hand on his shoulder again.

"It will pass, but for now you need to rest."

"What happened?" The fact he had no idea of why his head wanted to drop right off his shoulders was alarming. He tried to lift his head and open his eyes again, but a wave of dizziness forced him to stay still.

Porthos's voice sounded closer as he answered. "You took on three raiders at once. One of them must have heard about the musketeer rules for dueling."

He waited to see if Aramis would respond and his friend didn't let him down.

"You mean, anything goes? Fight dirty?"

Porthos grinned at Marie, who was looking confused. That didn't sound like any honour code she had heard of.

"One of them apparently tapped your thick skull with a pistol butt."

"Very dirty!" Aramis muttered to himself. Suddenly something else slammed into him. The last thing he recalled was trying desperately to get to d'Artagnan. He bolted upright and immediately regretted it as his head seriously threatened to dislodge itself from his shoulders. Porthos grabbed him before he could fall onto the floor and gently turned his head to the side.

"e's fine!"

Aramis tried to stop the violent spinning and he reached out a hand to make sure for himself. When he connected with solid, warm flesh and felt the steady thump of a heartbeat underneath his fingers, he smiled. D'Artagnan slept soundly, oblivious to his friend's anguish.

"I gave him something to help him sleep." Marie waited to see if he had heard her before continuing. "His wound needed redressing and his lungs have taken in too much smoke, but he will heal better by sleeping, with far less coughing."

Aramis sagged in relief and Porthos eased him back down onto the pallet. He closed his eyes and tried to will his head to settle. It took longer than he would have liked, but eventually he felt the bed stop moving and he released his vice-like grip on Porthos' forearm.

"You need to sleep too." He heard her voice coming at him as if through thick honey. He felt himself being pulled back under and gave up fighting it. He knew he was in safe hands and his last thought was to wonder where Armand was and if he had made it out alive.

Porthos watched as his friend settled into an uneasy sleep. He hadn't even mentioned the fire and had not seemed to notice he was burnt. He looked across at Marie and she read the concern in his eyes.

"He will recover."

"How come 'e doesn't remember what happened to him?"

"A concussion can do that. From what I saw last night, it may be a blessing for him not to remember everything."

Porthos saw her lip trembling as she spoke and smiled as she quickly pulled herself together. It would be difficult for a healer not to feel empathy with a patient.

"Why don't you take some leave to eat and I'll sit with them?"

Marie suddenly realised she had no idea how long it had been since she had eaten. Her stomach growled at the thought of food and Porthos smiled at her.

"I'll take that as a yes?"

"I will just be out there. Call if either of them needs anything." She pushed up from the stool and nodded as she headed for the kitchen.

Porthos pulled the stool over and settled himself in to wait.

* * *

Athos wandered around the smouldering remains of Armand's barn and tried to blot out the horror of the night before. Deniel had filled them in on what had transpired and he noted the man's hands shook slightly. It was no disgrace on any man to be shaken by how close they had come to losing friends. He was lost in thought and did not register movement behind him until Armand was almost beside him.

"Should you be up and around yet?"

Armand smiled at the genuine concern and shook his head. "Probably not. But my boys need to see I am alive and well." He looked at the bandages on his hands and smiled ruefully. "Well, alive at least."

"Has Marie checked your burns this morning? And your other wound?"

Armand was surprised at how much Athos noticed, even in the midst of his own concerns. Without thinking, he raised a hand to his neck and felt the raw welt there. It stung under his fingertips and he quickly pulled his hand away. Things could have turned out very differently.

"She is occupied elsewhere and the dressings she did to start with are quite sufficient." He smiled slightly as he looked at Athos' own dressings. The man had sustained burns himself in his desperate search through the barn.

"What of your own hands?"

Athos simply nodded. The burns extended well beyond his hands, but since that was the only visible bandaging, it was all he acknowledged. "They will heal."

He had stood in the room while Marie had redressed d'Artagnan's wound and tended to Aramis' head injury. It wasn't until all the others had been seen to that he allowed the girl to inspect his own wounds. She had been efficient and tender, in spite of the fact she had clearly had little sleep. If it couldn't be Aramis attending to them, then Marie made an acceptable and welcome substitute. She had settled beside the bed to keep watch on her two sleeping patients and Athos had allowed himself a small smile. Trust Aramis to attract the prettiest healer he had come across in a long time!

It was only the pressing need to deal with four raiders who were presently trussed up and gagged behind the house, that he had left at all. The thought of the man who had left his friends to burn to death, made his blood run cold. He clenched a fist and tried to release the fury.

"My men will be escorting the raiders to Paris to await trial. They will be out of your sight as soon as possible."

Armand squelched the bile rising from his stomach and stared straight ahead. When he had traveled to Paris, he had never imagined things taking such a wild turn. Athos waited in silence, but could read the waves of anger rippling off the man.

"Henri told me … their leader … Villeneuve … " he sucked in a deep breath and tried not to vomit.

Athos watched and waited as the main struggled to find his voice.

"He's the one who killed my wife! He boasted about it to my boys!" His voice cracked as the anguish of the moment overwhelmed him. He sank to his knees and stared at the remains of his barn. The same man had almost destroyed his whole family.

Athos knelt down beside him in the dirt and clamped a firm hand on his shoulder. "If Villeneuve were to escape his bonds, and you were the only one to see him, you could not be held responsible for what may happen."

Armand stared at him as if he were speaking a foreign language. The man he had come to understand as the epitome of honour, was offering him a chance to avenge his losses. His heart pounded wildly as he had dreamed many times of taking the life of the one who had attacked his wife and left her to die. The months where his son had refused to speak had taken its toll on him. He felt the thirst of revenge rise in his throat and he blinked back tears. Suddenly he jolted to his senses as he recalled Villeneuve's reasoning for coming back to kill d'Artagnan. Revenge!

"If I choose that path, I fear I will never find my way home again."

Athos squeezed his shoulder and smiled. "You are correct. He has no hold over you and soon he will pay for his crimes. A public hanging is shameful, humiliating and not quickly forgotten. It will also be a deterrent to others."

When Armand did not answer, Athos tried another tack. "There was a significant amount of coin in their saddlebags. More than enough to rebuild your barn. I only wish we could do more to restore what else you have lost."

Armand felt the genuine compassion in the comment and looked to see Athos studying him.

"You and your men have done far more than I could have ever asked. When I came to Paris, I already knew the musketeers were men of honour. You have already far exceeded my expectations."

* * *

Henri sat, huddled against a log and watched. The four men who had invaded his home and taken his mother were currently bound by tight ropes and gagged with rags. The troop of musketeers who had appeared the night before were camped on the grass behind the house and were taking it in turns to guard the men.

He felt the weight of the pistol in his hand. He knew how to load one, as did anybody who grew up on a farm. His father had taught him to shoot as soon as he could hold the weapon straight. In his other hand, he absently tossed the lead ball. Another three were stowed in his breeches pocket. He knew that there was no way he would ever get to load and shoot all four, but for the moment he would be satisfied with just one.

His target leaned up against a post and appeared to be asleep. Henri swallowed hard as he thought about how little he had slept since his mother died. The nightmares returned most nights and he always woke up feeling the same way. He had failed her. The day he rode to the village with his father, he had been angry at her. He had no idea what the issue was now as his mind seemed to have buried it. What he could not bury was the guilt of knowing he would never get to say he was sorry. So very, truly sorry. His one hope was that somehow he could wipe it out by killing the man who had killed her. His reverie was only broken by footsteps behind him and he hastily shoved the pistol under his leg.

* * *

Athos watched as Armand went in search of his sons. It felt strange that after riding so hard and so urgently, it now seemed that he had all the time in the world. It would be two days before the men he had sent to collect their other prisoners would return and he itched to see Alain again. In spite of his words of counsel to Armand, he was not entirely sure how he would react when he saw the traitorous weasel. He felt his fists clench as the anger rose up from his toes. It had been far too close a call and he blinked furiously to wipe away the fear.

He managed to compose himself before heading off to find Deniel. It would make things easier for Armand and his family if Villeneuve and his men were removed as soon as possible from his sight and a troop of musketeers was more than enough to safely escort the prisoners. He knew the men had ridden all night from Paris and needed rest, but he was eager to see them on the road again.

He had no idea how soon it would be before the rest of them were fit to travel and he turned towards the house. Deniel's orders could wait a while longer.

As he went to open the door, he was surprised to see Marie coming out ahead of him. She held a scrap of bread and an apple in her hand and he smiled at her. If she was able to take time to eat, then her patients must be doing reasonably well. He knew from experience that Aramis would not stop to eat until he had done everything he needed to do. Marie struck him as no less diligent.

She smiled shyly at him as they passed and he noted how tired she looked. It had been a long night for all of them.

Porthos looked up as Athos entered the room and he quickly shoved himself to his feet. "Was just going to find something to eat. Starving!"

Athos nodded at the not-so-subtle excuse, but said nothing as his friend vacated the room. Was he that obvious?

Aramis murmered in his sleep and Athos sat down on the stool beside him.

"I'm sorry. I got it so very wrong and you almost paid the price for my stupidity."

He had no idea how long he sat and watched the two of them sleep. The stark bandages on d'Artagnan's wrists glared at him in accusation. The burns on his hands were nothing in comparison to the raw skin on his feet.

"I'm sorry." The whispered apology felt empty and useless. By the time Porthos returned he was not surprised to see Athos on his knees. He clamped a firm hand on his friend's neck.

"_You_ did not do this!"


	19. Chapter 19

For those who have wondered, I had most of this story plotted out and partly written before I began posting, so yes I have slept in there somewhere. I've got one more chapter to go and it will be done. I think I'll be sorry to see the end of it, but I do need to catch up on some work :-)

**Chapter Nineteen**

_A cloud of black smoke obscured his view and he tried desperately to push his way through it. The vapour behaved as though it were alive and deliberately trying to block his way. His frustration amped up another notch and he stumbled forward. The smoke choked in his lungs and he knew he had to find a way out or die. As he pushed forward, his foot caught on something. He pitched forward and found himself face to face with Aramis. Fear gripped his throat as he could see his friend's lifeless eyes staring back at him. He was too late!_

Aramis grabbed at d'Artagnan's wildly flailing hands, trying to avoid the strips of bandaging. Finally he settled for both hands on the boy's shoulders and leaned in with all his weight.

"Wake up!"

As d'Artagnan began to register his surroundings and saw his friend's face looming over him, he gulped wildly.

"You! You're not … " The tentacles of fear began to unwrap from his throat and he sagged back onto the pillow.

"No, I'm not. And neither are you." Aramis was struggling to stay upright with the effort it had cost him to wake his friend. He watched as the vestiges of the dream evaporated and d'Artagnan's wild breathing began to settle. Feeling it was safe to remove his hands, he slid back onto his own pillow and closed his eyes. The world was swaying back and forth and his stomach was threatening another revolt.

"Aramis?"

He focused on the sound and tried to respond, but the world was still tilted at a wild angle.

"Aramis, can you hear me?"

"Mmmm."

D'Artagnan tried to sit up and his body responded by screaming at him. He settled for reaching a hand across and shaking Aramis by the shoulder.

"Are you all right?"

"Going to be sick." Aramis rolled onto his side and barely managed to snag the bowl that Marie had given him earlier. He had lost count of how many times his stomach had reacted the same way.

D'Artagnan eased himself onto his side. The pain that flared under the bandages reminded him of the intensity of the inferno and brought tears to his eyes, but he was determined to check on Aramis. The dream was still too fresh in his mind to have completely let go of his fear.

By the time Marie returned to check on them she was surprised to see Aramis lying on his side with d'Artagnan's arm draped over him. The bowl on the floor told her all she needed to know and she stooped down to remove it. As she stood back up, she paused to watch the two sleeping men. Both were obviously still in pain, as even in sleep, their features gave them away. She knew it would be quite some time before either would sleep peacefully and comfortably again.

* * *

Henri wanted to shove Philippe aside. The child had inadvertently stumbled into his space and spoiled everything. The irony that they often played hide and seek and he sometimes made his hiding places rather obvious, was not lost on him. He had simply not hidden himself well enough. He glared at the men sitting a short distance away and felt the weapon buried underneath his leg. A wild mixture of pain and anger welled up inside him and threatened to overwhelm him.

Armand had been watching his sons for some time and knew exactly where Henri's thoughts were going. He had not seen the weapon his son carried, but he knew the look on his face. He slowly walked over to where the two of them were sitting and crouched down beside them.

"They will be gone soon. Athos said his men will be taking them back to Paris as soon as they are rested and ready to travel."

Henri stared at his father, trying to contain the toxic mix of emotions rolling around in his chest. He didn't want them gone. He wanted them dead!

Armand saw his own anger reflected in his son's face and his thoughts quickly turned to Athos' offer. He understood the voice of a soldier, giving him wise counsel in a strange kind of way. What he wasn't sure about was how to convey that same wisdom to his son. The boy had been robbed of his mother and his innocence all in one day and no amount of recompense would ever change that. His younger son had been left traumatised and irreparably changed. He felt his fists clench in frustration as he wondered how to restore what his boys had lost.

Finally he settled for something that all boys respond to. "I think it's time for food. Who's hungry?"

Philippe smiled at him and stood up quickly. Henri seemed less interested as Armand got to his feet. The boy knew there was no way his father would leave him where he was so he awkwardly attempted to stand while holding the pistol behind him.

Armand stared at him as he saw the weapon his son was trying to hide from him.

"That isn't the way. Your Mama would not want that for you." The words were soft and low as he spoke over Philippe's head.

Henri saw tears in his father's eyes and he looked away in shame. Not only had he failed his mother, but now he had disappointed his father. He pushed past Philippe and ran for the house.

* * *

The road to Paris had never looked so long or boring. Especially when seen from the back of a wagon instead of the back of a horse. Their pace was ridiculously slow and d'Artagnan knew it was for his benefit that they were barely crawling. He looked across to where Athos was riding alongside them and wished he could trade places. Even Aramis had been allowed to ride a horse again, but since d'Artagnan still could not pull on a pair of boots without being in agony, Athos had decided he should ride in the wagon. His horse was hitched to the back of the wagon and he itched to reach out and climb on.

Philippe, on the other hand, thought it was wonderful that he got to ride with a musketeer and the one piece of comfort d'Artagnan could pull from his miserable situation was that Philippe was talking to him. It was astounding what a small child could see in the world that adults simply rode past.

Athos had assured Armand that the raiders would be held in the Chatelet until they all returned. The trial could not commence without the witnesses and neither d'Artagnan nor Aramis had been fit to travel. Even without all of their other crimes, the attempted murder of four musketeers was enough for them all to hang. The two men he had sent back to the inn had returned with their prisoners and Athos had already sent them on to Paris as well.

Athos pointed ahead to a copse of trees and knew there would be water nearby.

"We make camp there for the night."

With the ease born of experience it was a simple and efficient matter to pull the wagon and horses into the trees and unload their gear. Porthos had already stripped off his boots and waded into the small stream in search of fish and Aramis quickly had a fire roaring, in anticipation of Porthos' success. He also put a pot of water on to boil and pulled out his supplies.

Between Armand and Athos they had helped d'Artagnan get down from the wagon and had him settled against a log. He hated the feeling of helplessness and chafed at the need for help, but managed to bite his tongue and allow them to help him. It seemed ungrateful and churlish to speak as he wanted to, but Athos could clearly read the frustration on his face. He waited until Armand had moved away before crouching down beside d'Artagnan.

"There is no shame in needing help." He watched the shadow of anger move across the young man's face before he quickly squashed it. D'Artagnan had found out from Porthos that it was Athos who had carried him from the burning barn. He had never said so, but d'Artagnan knew he had sustained his own injuries in the rescue. It grated that the man who had been injured in saving him, did not need any of the help that he still required. He stared at his reddened wrists and said nothing. Aramis had decided the bandages could come off, but his feet were another story. The skin on the soles of his feet was still blistered and swollen. He knew Aramis would need to redress them, now that they had stopped and he cringed at the thought.

Aramis pulled the pot of boiling water from the fire and settled on the ground next to d'Artagnan' feet. He knew what he had to do, but he also knew how much it was going to hurt. Each time he put on a new dressing, he was acutely aware of how much pain he was causing. Before he began, he pulled a bottle of wine from his supplies and handed it to Athos.

"Drink up!" He tried to smile as he nodded towards d'Artagnan. "I think he needs some too."

Athos had already settled himself beside d'Artagnan and had an arm braced around his shoulders. He pulled the cork from the bottle and took a swig before handing it across. D'Artagnan took a long draught and stared at Athos' calm face as Aramis began his work. It took all he had, not to cry out as he felt his feet and legs being set on fire all over again. Athos shoved the bottle back towards him and he drank deeply. The wine dampened the pain a little and he found himself gripping onto Athos' shirt.

By the time Aramis was done, he was sagging heavily against his friend. As always, Athos provided the solid, unmoving grounding he needed. Athos said nothing as Aramis packed away his supplies and moved off to the stream to wash. He felt the tremors underneath his arm and waited for d'Artagnan to pull himself together. He knew the only reason d'Artagnan had sustained such injuries was because he had gone to help Aramis and not thought of his own needs first. Once again, he felt a swell of pride over the young man sitting beside him. For someone who had lost everything, he could have become callous and hardened by bitterness. Instead he freely gave of whatever he had.

D'Artagnan lost track of how long he sat, leaning into Athos, but it must have been some time as suddenly Porthos loomed in front of him with a plate of cooked fish. He had no recollection of the man even returning and wondered if he had dozed off. Athos placed the plate on his lap and waited until he began to pick at it. His head felt fuzzy and he wondered if Aramis had slipped him something else besides wine.

The group settled around the fire to eat and before long Philippe had fallen asleep against his father's thigh. Conversation inevitably returned to the prisoners in the Chatelet and what awaited them. Henri listened intently to the conversation, but said nothing. He stomach churned as he considered his lost chance for revenge. Tomorrow they would arrive in Paris and he had no idea if they would see the musketeers after that. Since the day he had sat with the pistol in his hand and his target in his sights, he had not stopped wondering one thing. Would it make him feel any better to kill the man who killed his mother?

Finally he decided he would lose his chance and he summoned up the courage to speak.

"D'Artagnan … can I ask you something?"

The wine and whatever Aramis had done was taking its toll and he felt his head growing fuzzy, but the tone in Henri's voice jolted him into alertness.

"Of course."

Henri knew he was treading on sensitive ground, but if anybody would understand, he knew d'Artagnan would.

"When your father died, what happened to the man who killed him?"

All eyes turned to the young man who suddenly seemed to sit up a little straighter. Athos felt the tension beside him and looked across at him. He knew the story, but had not been present to see it for himself and d'Artagnan had never spoken to him about it.

"We caught up with them and there was a fight." D'Artagnan looked across at Aramis as he recalled the moment when Aramis asked him to stay his hand.

"We … we needed him alive … as he was a witness … and we needed his confession. I had him pinned on the ground and I wanted to take his head off!" The rawness of the emotion surprised him as he thought he had put it behind him.

When it appeared that d'Artagnan would not go on, Aramis stepped in. "I asked him to stop. D'Artagnan pulled back and left him to me."

Henri stared at the men as his shock registered on his face. D'Artagnan had the chance to kill his father's murderer and did not.

"I was walking away when he got up and charged at me. I defended myself and killed him." The flat tone in his voice belied the churning in his stomach.

Nobody spoke for a few minutes until finally Henri tried again. "How did it feel?"

D'Artagnan looked across at the boy in front of him. "For a moment … it felt good. But it won't bring my father back."

Henri felt his father's arms around him as he turned away. Hot tears streamed down his face and he felt the rage of the situation pouring out of him. D'Artagnan watched as he saw his own grief reflected on another face. It was entirely unfair, totally unprovoked and completely unjust. Nothing would ever change that.

"Henri."

At first the boy did not respond, but d'Artagnan tried again. He would never know if it was the wine or simply the right moment to unburden himself, but he found himself wanting to stop somebody else traveling the same path he had.

"Henri … when my father died I wanted to die with him. He was all I had and I was consumed with rage. Later on I lost his farm. Raiders attacked and took everything I owned. I have never felt so ashamed in my life that I had lost everything he had worked his whole life for. I went back to Gascony looking to somehow lay it to rest. I had no idea what I would find and what sort of greeting I would receive, but in my mind I had failed miserably."

He looked around at his friends' faces and tried to make them understand his actions. "I was so ashamed that I didn't want anybody to see it. I shut you all out to hide from it. When I got there I met up with friends and neighbours and not one of them blamed me. They were sympathetic. Many told me they were proud I had made it as a musketeer. I began to see things a little differently."

He sucked in a breath and tried to continue against the swell of emotion. "I thought avenging my father would make things better. But killing a man can leave you cold and empty. My father taught me a code of honour. He expected a lot from me. I plan to live up to his expectations and I hope that one day I will make him proud. Henri, nothing will ever make up for your loss. But if you sink to their level, they have won. You have the hands of a healer and the heart of a musketeer. Don't let them take that from you."

* * *

It would be a long time before Athos got to sleep that night. The depth of d'Artagnan's emotional wounds echoed around his head. He vowed that as long as he had breath in him, the young man would never again feel he had to face anything alone.

Armand lay in the dark and wrapped his arms around both his boys. In the midst of all of the pain and drama they had faced, he thanked God a young man from Gascony had ridden into their lives.


	20. Chapter 20

**Chapter Twenty**

Constance sat in the back of the room and tried to stay out of sight. She may have removed herself from the musketeers in deference to her husband's wishes, but she was not totally out of the loop. The area had been abuzz with rumours that musketeers had been attacked and possibly killed and she had casually wandered past the garrison too many times in hopes of picking up information. The fact she had not seen any of the four men she had been looking for had finally prompted her to ask. Captain Treville had been kind enough to fill her in, while wary of treading on d'Artagnan's choice to distance himself from the Bonacieaux's home. He was not privy to the details, but was no fool. Something had transpired that none of his men would talk about. And yet when Constance came to him for answers, he could clearly see the anguish on her face. When he informed her of d'Artagnan's injuries, her face had drained of colour and he thought she may have been about to pass out in his office.

As she listened to the testimony being given against the six men in the dock, her blood ran cold. She listened as a father and husband told the packed room of his wife's murder and his sons being attacked. He barely kept his composure as he told of raiders who thought nothing of taking whatever they wanted and who would trample anybody who got in their way. She heard the bitter edge to his voice as he explained how he had come to Paris before, looking for help. Constance looked across at Treville and saw his stoic face shift slightly. The whys and wherefores did not always make sense, but she knew him to be a man of honour and compassion. If he had not sent immediate help, there was a reason, although she was hard-pressed to think what that may be.

At some point her concentration had lapsed as Armand had stepped down and Athos had taken his place. She leaned forward to hear what he had to say. Athos recounted his part of the saga with a measured tone and cold eyes. She heard the pride in his voice as he described d'Artagnan's efforts to save two boys from marauding men who thought nothing of killing children. She gasped, along with several other ladies in the room as Athos described their first moments of seeing their injured friend and not knowing if he would live.

She felt tears in her eyes as he described the further injuries of men operating under his command, while he had been lured elsewhere with the intent of being murdered in their beds. Her stomach clenched in disgust as she heard about three men being trapped in a barn and left to burn to death. Her mind reeled as she finally understood how close they had all come to being taken from her life. She closed her eyes and tried desperately to compose herself. She possibly would have managed to if they had not called d'Artagnan to testify next.

Aramis and Porthos walked on either side of him and she noted how drawn his features were. It was crystal clear to everyone in the room that it was painful for him to walk the steps to the seat. The fact he was allowing his friends to help him, only emphasised his distress. Even when Athos had shot him, she had not seen him look so weak. Tears spilled from her eyes and she pulled a kerchief from her pocket.

By the time the testimony was done and the judge had given the accused a chance to defend themselves, Constance was thoroughly exhausted. It was clear to everybody in the room that there was only one possible verdict and nobody was surprised when it was announced that there would be a hanging at dawn the next day.

She tried to slip quietly out of the room before anybody could see her. As she stepped into the street her emotions finally boiled over and she found herself almost doubled over in pain and unable to breathe.

A firm hand on her elbow jolted her back to reality and she looked up to see Athos watching her with concern. Behind him she saw the rest of the group. Once again, Aramis and Porthos stood guard on either side and the man she knew only as Armand stood behind them all with his arms around two boys. She looked across at the man she had vowed to leave behind and could not contain herself. If for no other reason than to reassure herself that he really was alive, she grasped his shirt in her hands and clung to his chest. She felt his arms around her and could feel the beat of his heart against her cheek. Fresh tears soaked into his shirt front.

He breathed in the scent of her hair. Somehow her presence blotted out the pain, if only for a few moments. He felt her trembling in his arms and wanted desperately to reach down and kiss her. He noted how the others seemed to have circled around them as if to shield them from prying eyes. D'Artagnan closed his eyes and soaked in the moment of peace. All too soon he felt her pulling away from him. Neither could find anything to say and he watched helplessly as she forced herself to walk away from him again. It took all she had within her not to look back over her shoulder as she walked. Tears streamed down her face as she blindly followed her feet home.

D'Artagnan stared after her, every fibre of him wanting to run after her and bring her back. Aramis grasped d'Artagnan's elbow and quietly steered him towards where their horses waited. Treville stood on the steps behind them and watched as his men helped the young man onto his horse and led the way home. He stood still, long after they had disappeared from view. He had almost allowed himself to believe they were not going to return. The testimony he had spent the day listening to, did nothing to relieve his dark thoughts.

* * *

Armand had spent most of the night pacing the floor. He could not decide if he wanted to allow his sons to accompany him to the prison or not. Finally he gave up and seated himself on the bed. Somehow, his sons slept soundly and he allowed himself to rest in the normality of the moment.

By the time Porthos knocked on his door, he had finally decided his boys needed to see justice done. Based on the conversation by the fire, he knew his eldest son was still hurting deeply. His youngest had begun to show signs of recovery and he hesitated to undo that. As he ushered them out the door and into the courtyard, he wondered how the day would end.

It was a sombre ride across the still-sleeping city to the Chatelet prison. Nobody seemed to be in the mood for talking and Armand wondered what each of them was thinking. If anybody had asked, he wasn't sure if he could have explained what he himself was thinking. He followed the lead of Treville as they were escorted into the prison courtyard where multiple gallows had been set up. Philippe was barely awake and he clung onto his father's neck, while trying to stifle a yawn. Henri stared at the hangman's nooses and tried to appear unaffected by the sight. His father knew better and he watched carefully as his eldest son took his seat. It was one thing to want justice and even revenge; it was quite another to watch it dispensed.

D'Artagnan took a seat and refused to make eye contact with anyone. As Athos sat next to him, he felt the older man's calming presence washing over him. His mind kept wandering back to his conversation with Henri and he wondered how the lad was faring. He knew from bitter experience that the death of the person who stole a loved one from you did nothing to ease the pain. It just closed a door that needed to be closed. Without justice, that door stood open and taunted the victim's family.

His feet were burning in his boots and he longed to pull them off. He would not allow Aramis to know, lest the man embarrassed him by trying to tend to his wounds where everyone could see. He refused to give Villeneuve one inch of satisfaction as he was sent to his death. He felt the ever-present dull ache of the wound in his side and wondered if he would ever feel whole and strong again.

He glanced around as others filed into the courtyard. He wondered how many of them were victims of the condemned men and how many were just the usual hangers-on that seemed to turn up for public executions.

The sun was just beginning to crest the rooftops as he heard a gate creak open. The prisoners were marched out in single file and the small crowd fell silent. D'Artagnan felt Athos' hand on his shoulder and he appreciated the reassurance. It felt strange that they were in the same place where Athos had once stood to face a firing squad. The ghost of the memory rose up in his mind and he recalled the day when he had stood on the stairs and watched as Aramis delivered the stay of execution. He glanced up at the stairs, half expecting a representative from the palace to appear and halt proceedings.

By the time he pulled himself out of his reverie he was surprised to see the men had been lined up in two rows of three. The first group already had the nooses in place and one of the three began to squirm in his restraints. D'Artagnan felt a cold detachment settle over him as he watched half the group meet their fate. He looked at the three men standing behind them and noted the look on Villeneuve's face. For all his clout amongst his men and all the fear he had generated across the countryside, he suddenly looked very small and insignificant.

Henri forced himself to watch as the man who nearly destroyed his family was prodded forward and a noose placed around his neck. He had expected to feel something more akin to satisfaction. Instead, just as d'Artagnan had described, he simply felt cold and empty. He leaned over to squeeze Philippe's hand and smiled at his brother. The little boy could feel the tension in the air, but he felt safe wrapped in his father's arms.

In the end, the whole thing was over very quickly. The bodies were removed and taken away to be buried in anonymous unmarked graves. For men who had sought their own power and glory, it was an ignominious end. Armand stayed in his seat, trying to process the emotions competing for his attention. What he had put into motion a couple of weeks earlier had taken his family along the most unexpected path. Now he had the overwhelming task of putting the pieces back together and figuring out how to go on from there.

* * *

Athos held the glass in his hand and looked around the room. He noted that Aramis hovered near d'Artagnan, while appearing to hold a conversation with Treville. The young man sat on a chair with his feet planted on another chair. He had refused Aramis' push to rest in bed, but had willingly chosen to sit down. Athos smiled as he could foresee it being the first of many such conversations in the coming days.

It was clear to all of them that the effort of the last two days had cost d'Artagnan a setback in his healing. Aramis was clearly concerned about him wearing boots, but there was no way d'Artagnan would have set foot in the courtroom without them. He would not give Villeneuve the satisfaction. Although he had been forced to allow his friends to help him walk the length of the room as well as getting on and off his horse.

Armand sat beside him and Athos wondered what they were talking about as they seemed to be deep in conversation. He knew the family would be heading home in the morning and he glanced across the room to where Armand's boys were engrossed in a game of cards with Porthos. He smiled as it was not the big man's usual choice of victim.

Within the safety of the room, Athos allowed himself a moment to breathe in the calm. He had spent so many days on high alert that it felt strange to relax his guard.

Armand leaned in closer to d'Artagnan and tried to find the right words. "You told us that you hoped to make your father proud of you. Speaking as a father, I can guarantee he was already proud of you." He looked up to see what impact his words were having. He found d'Artagnan staring at the floor and he tried again.

"Would you blame Henri or Philippe for what happened to us?"

D'Artagnan's head shot up. "Of course not! They are just boys."

"Their age has nothing to do with it. Evil men chose an evil path. My boys did not do that." He waited to make sure the young man was fully listening.

"Evil men chose an evil path that intersected with yours. You did not do that either."

D'Artagnan felt himself struggling to keep his composure and as he looked up, he saw Athos watching him intently. Armand noted the exchange and smiled.

"These men … they accepted you as one of their own, did they not?"

D'Artagnan barely nodded.

Armand felt he was pushing the limits, but continued anyway. "I watched those men drag you back from the brink of death."

He waited a moment to allow that to sink in. "They love you. They refused to let you go. You must have done something right to earn that. And something about it was strong enough to keep you here. My boys are alive because of you and I will never be able to repay that debt. Trust me when I tell you, your father would be proud of you."

Athos watched as d'Artagnan dropped his face into his hands. He was about to move when he saw Armand clamp a hand on the back of his neck.

"Believe me, I understand how much you have lost. I know you have found a family here, but I hope you know that if ever you need us, you have us too. If you are ever passing our way, there will always be a place at our table for you. Of course, if you find yourself missing ploughing fields, you are welcome to drop by and take a turn at that too."

D'Artagnan laughed in spite of himself. In the last few years he had driven his father crazy as he craved excitement away from the routine of farming and yet since finding himself in Paris, there had been days where he missed the simpler rhythm of country life. Somehow Armand had seen straight through him.

He looked across at the father sitting beside him and chewed on his bottom lip. He picked up the glass beside him and rolled it in his hands as he tried to compose himself before taking a drink.

* * *

D'Artagnan sat on the bench and watched the sparring. It had only been a few days since Armand and his boys had left for home and he had spent much of the days since, soaking up the warmth of the sun. He itched to get out and join in the practice and cursed at his imposed rest. It felt like exile being left on the sidelines while everybody else got to participate. While his body was finally healing, Aramis had been explicit in the boundaries he had laid out. D'Artagnan knew the whole regiment was aware and there was no getting around it. It was pointless trying to argue as not one of them was prepared to cross Aramis when it came to the welfare of his brothers.

"Brothers." D'Artagnan barely breathed the word to himself. Somehow, after all that life had thrown at him, he had walked out of it with three brothers. Actually, after recent weeks, he felt like he had gained two more.

He smiled as he recalled Henri's parting words. "One day, I'll be back here as a musketeer."

D'Artagnan had no doubt that the young man would be. And when he did return he knew exactly who he'd be looking to as a sponsor. His thoughts wandered to his own good fortune in finding men who had taken it upon themselves to see he was trained and equipped. There had not been a day that he did not appreciate it, but after the last couple of weeks, he knew he would never take any of them for granted.

He was jolted out of his thoughts when Treville sat down next to him. The older man didn't say anything, but simply watched the sparring. Eventually it was time for a break and his friends wandered over to join them. Athos headed for the water barrel and poured out a cupful.

Treville waited until Aramis had seated himself before turning towards him. "I had a message this morning from Comtesse de la Roche for you."

Aramis frowned at the mention of the woman's name. Porthos turned away and tried to stifle a laugh. It was well known amongst the garrison that the wealthy widow had her sights set on their friend and was quite persistent in her attentions. Unfortunately her lack of teeth and questionable personal grooming were somewhat of a problem. Not to mention the fact she was a close cousin to the King and insisted on asking after Aramis whenever she saw her dear cousin.

"Yes?"

"Apparently she is expecting you for supper tomorrow night after she received your … now how did she put it? Your delightfully amorous acceptance letter."

"What? I never sent her any such thing!" Aramis looked around at his friends, desperately trying to work out how to turn down the Comtesse without causing undue fallout for himself.

Porthos leaned on the bench and shook his head. "You did give me two letters to have delivered last week. I'm sure one of them was for her."

Aramis stared at him in disbelief as understanding hit him. "You fool! You mixed them up!"

"Did I? How clumsy of me."

D'Artagnan looked across to where Athos was trying to hold a straight face. Aramis looked up and Athos was a fraction too slow to school his face into impassivity.

"What the … you didn't … Porthos!" Aramis leapt to his feet and glared at his friend. "You would stoop to pulling the Captain into this?"

"As I recall, that's called payback! Now, that's one down and one to go."

"What are you talking about? I only pulled one prank on you and you quite rightly have returned the favour." Aramis felt the overwhelming relief of the moment as the thought of giving the Comtesse any hint of attention was horrifying.

Porthos stalked towards him menacingly. "I do believe you challenged me to a wrestling match and we were interrupted."

Aramis began to laugh at his friend, but quickly found himself being hoisted into the air and thrown over Porthos' shoulder. He looked around to see if Treville was going to intervene, but his captain was laughing as hard as his friends.

"Wait! Don't forget … I have a head injury!"

"Then I will be merciful and just dunk the bottom half of you." Porthos stalked towards the water trough and unceremoniously dumped his friend into the water.

"Now, we are even," he declared as he sauntered back to the bench and sat down. Athos hadn't moved from his post and simply shook his head at their antics, while a smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. There were days when he had to question just how old the two of them were.

Aramis sat in the water and watched as the entire garrison seemed to be enjoying the spectacle at his expense. He looked across to where d'Artagnan was laughing at him. It was worth it, simply to see his brother laughing again. It had been far too long since he had seen laughter in those eyes.

Treville had stepped back onto the stairs and began headed for the landing. For the first time in weeks, things felt right with the world. He watched the men in the courtyard below and smiled as Aramis climbed out of the trough and proceeded to theatrically embrace the others. He heard something about sharing and shook his head as he walked into his office. Somehow the four of them added a whole new level of meaning to brothers in arms.

* * *

_Well that's all folks! This story has consumed my time and energy, but I think it was worth it. I always struggle to wrap up any story I write, but I thought this needed something lighter after all the pain and drama. Besides, I can't imagine Porthos missing a chance for payback. I can't thank you enough to all those who reviewed and messaged and made me laugh. This is a generous fandom and I truly appreciate your time. I have one more story idea that came up while I was writing this and I had to detour to get it down while it was there. It's a one-shot AU idea so I will post it as soon as it's polished. Other than that, I have no idea what else will turn up. Thanks again!_


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